


Random Harvest

by FlightyWren



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Pairings to be Added, Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternature Universe, Amnesia, Angst, Belladonna is a troll, Family, Misunderstandings, Multi, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 87,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlightyWren/pseuds/FlightyWren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year was 1317, Shire Reckoning, when a dwarf with no memory of his past washed up on the banks of the Water. He stayed ten years in Hobbiton, worked as a blacksmith there, married the respectable daughter of Bungo and Belladonna Baggins, had a family, then disappeared without a trace. The year was 1341, Shire Reckoning, when a dwarf with no memory of the Shire returned to his forgotten home and proceeded to drag his forgotten wife along on an adventure to fight a dragon and reclaim his people's homeland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me just say, Random Harvest was the stupidest movie I've ever seen. I hate slow burn stuff like that, with years wasted pining and missing each other like boats in the night, when they could have been happy with each other instead. Still, I was thinking over Bagginshield fic plots a while back and the idea of something like Random Harvest really stuck out to me. So, without further ado, here goes!

**26 April 1341 (Shire Reckoning)**

   Belladonna Baggins, named for her mother, Belladonna Baggins, wife of Bungo Baggins, was not a simpleton. Nor was she even the slightest bit hard of hearing, nor was she blind. She knew exactly what the residents of the Shire (at least, the ones she'd met) thought of her and her family. Twenty-three years ago, Bella had scandalized not only the residents of Hobbiton, but also her entire Baggins side of the family and most anyone who heard the gossip that followed, by marrying a dwarf smith that had come to Hobbiton for work a year previously. She knew this. Bella had heard the whispers (and sometimes face-to-face declarations) that flitted through Hobbiton when her courtship with Kagin had become official. A previously respectable girl like Bella from a respectable family like the Bagginses' courting a “ _dwarf blacksmith_ of all people” sent tongues wagging far and wide. Bella hadn't cared then, when her aunt, Tansy Baggins, had had the nerve to come up to her while she did the shopping for her glory box to tell her that she should break off the engagement before she embarrassed the Baggins family even more than she already had. She hadn't cared ten years later when, after Kagin had gone on a trip to Michel Delving for a guild meeting and never come back, the women and men she called friends looked on her with pity, telling each other that her husband had grown tired of her oddities and left her to raise their unnatural children on her own. Bella did _not_ care. But that didn't mean she appreciated the gossip, the whispers, the looks by any means. After all, she had to at least try to _pretend_ she had a reputation to preserve.

   Trips to the market were the worst. At least when Bella was at home, she could deny visitors entrance to Bag End if she thought they were there to disparage her life choices. But all and sundry were allowed into the market square.

   It was on a typical Trewsday morning in late April that Bella left the house with her only son, Aster, and youngest daughter, Morion, to go to market. Bryony, her oldest, was away on a trip to Frogmorton and would be until tomorrow night or early morning the next day and Byrony's twin, Birla, had chosen to stay at home today instead of going to market. Now that they were entering their tweens, there was very little excitement for Bryony and Birla at the market, except in the form of new books from Michel Delving or Bree and the “dreamy Long Hom boy from down the lane” (those were Bryony's words, if Sigrún's teasing of her older sister was to be taken seriously). Sigrún was off running wild through East Farthing Wood and the fields between it and Hobbiton with the other children her age and a few older siblings that looked after them. Morion would have been with her, but she was still too enthralled by the magic of the marketplace to pass up a chance to go.

   Bella had a long list of things she needed to buy. Morion's birthday party earlier in the previous week had left the pantry running lower than usual the day of a market run. Once Bella finished here, the Bagginses had a full day of baking ahead of them.

   The first few shops were uneventful. They went through the butcher's shop. Daucus Muir talked amiably as always. He gave the children, who he'd long had a soft spot for, small strips of jerky to chew and promised to have Bella's order ready to pick up when she came back after the rest of her shopping was done. Bella was able to replace the huge wheels of cheese that several of her cousins had eaten in a contest that had somehow broken out at the party after Morion's cake had been presented without trouble. It had taken a little convincing to get Aster away from the newest shipment of metalwork from the Blue Mountains (“Momma, _Momma_ ,” he'd squealed, tugging on her skirts, “look at those hangings! They're so pretty!”), but Bella had managed after reminding him that, not only did they already have plenty of metalwork hangings and art that Kagin had made at home, they weren't eating again until after the shopping was done. The latter was enough reason for Aster to respond to his mother's insistence that it was time to go get their fruits and vegetables and that, no, they were not buying any of the vendor's wares today.

   Bella was toting a basket absolutely full of food, struggling to keep one hand on Morion's wrist while loading a rather large basket of strawberries into the impatient arms of her seventeen year old son. Morion was resisting all attempts to be tethered to her mother's side, intent on wandering to the other side of the marketplace where a stout gentlehobbit was selling dolls and other small toys off his cart. Bella would have let her go, but they were almost finished and she'd much rather have her children on hand when time came to go home than have to hunt them down. Things had gone well so far; Bella wanted to get home with the good run intact. Looking back, she realized she should have known better than to tempt fate.

   “Bella, good morning!” Bella cursed her luck before fixing a polite smile to her face and turning to face Camilla Sackville-Baggins just as Morion finally broke free and darted toward the toymaker, double braids bouncing on her back as she went. Camilla watched her go with a look that implied she'd ever had better control over her son, Otho, at that age (she hadn't, Bella had watched gleefully from Bag End's window once, arms full of a colicky Bryony, as Otho, bare as the day he was born and covered in suds, ran up Bagshot Row, screaming that he didn't want a bath).

   “Good morning, Camilla,” Bella forced herself to be polite. If there was one thing she'd always prided herself on, it was how she usually handled hecklers with a level head and a calm tone. She spotted Otho lurking behind his mother, looking as downtrodden as usual. Bella tilted her head to catch his eye and gave him an encouraging smile. “Otho, how are you?”

   “I'm fine,” he said quietly, with a side glance at his mother for confirmation that he'd said the right thing. Camilla didn't spare him a glance, instead choosing to stare shrewdly at Bella. Bella steeled her jaw, straightened her back. She was not going to be found wanting by Aunt Camilla of all people.

   “How are you today, Camilla?” Bella made sure to keep her voice from coming out too clipped. Camilla pressed her lips together before answering.

   “Oh, I'm doing quite well. Very well, indeed.” She spoke with her chin tilted up, just enough so she could look down her nose at Bella. “Otho here is in need of some new clothes,” she put a hand on Otho's shoulder, which drooped under her touch, “he's grown completely out of his old party clothes and we'll need a new set for him before he's seen wearing Longo's old things too many times in a row.” Bella forced herself to smile and nod along.

   “Yes, well, the season's only just started, so I'm sure you'll have plenty of time.” She said amiably. She put a restraining hand on Aster's shoulder as she spoke, keeping him from straying from her side as he tried to use her distraction to ditch the cider and sneak away. “Bryony and Birla have been doing so much growing lately, I've been running to and from the seamstress's almost weekly for the past few months.” Even as she said it, Bella could tell she'd done the wrong thing by bringing up her daughters. Camilla's smile froze further and her eyes flicked to Aster, giving him a disdainful look.

   “Yes,” she said slowly, “those girls of yours certainly have _quite_ a bit of growing to do, don't they?” Bella was sure her teeth were going to crack with how hard she was clenching her jaw. She took a breath before answering. It wouldn't do to bludgeon Camilla with her shopping after all.

   “Only coming into their tweens, I'd say they've got another eight or nine years' growing left.” Otho made a disparaging noise, but Bella knew it wasn't over her daughters' dwarvish heritage. He always seemed to appreciate Bella and Camilla's little tussles as much as Bella did.

   “Oh, that reminds me,” Camilla said, just as Bella was starting to think that maybe she could politely say goodbye before a real spat broke out, “I saw your other girl, Sigrún, earlier. She was covered in mud. All that dirt will ruin her hair and that . . . _beard_ of hers.” The word came out like a curse. And there it was.

   Of all the things that bothered the sticklers in Hobbiton about Bella's children, it was that their Dwarf heritage showed most obnoxiously in the form of fluff of varying density and length on their faces. Birla, Bryony, and Aster didn't have very much hair so far, and at least they had other, more hobbity features to make up for the beginnings of beards they sported. But Bella's two youngest had ended up with more Dwarf than Hobbit blood, their ears large and round, and their feet a bit smaller and less hairy than they should have been. Still, no matter what other redeeming features any of them had, there were people like Camilla that would never let Bella forget that never before had a hobbit under the age of one hundred sprouted so much as a single hair on their chin. Bella knew that if Camilla was resorting to jabs at Sigrún's beard, it was time to go because her aunt was truly looking to cause a scene.

   “Thank you for telling me.” Bella said as calmly as she could manage while holding a hand over a heavily scowling Aster's mouth to keep him from yelling at his aunt. “I'll be sure to give her an extra hard scrub when she gets home. Yavanna knows we wouldn't want her beard to be anything less than luxurious before she goes out tomorrow. Good day, Camilla, Otho.” And with that, Bella herded Aster off to fetch Morion, head held high, expression a carefully constructed look of unconcern.

***

   Birla Baggins's favorite time of year was the stretch of weeks between the middle of spring and the middle of summer. When the air was warm, but not too warm and the flowers were bright splashes of color in the hedgerows and gardens. Most of the animals had already borne their offspring, so there were precious little calves and piglets and goslings everywhere, making the girls squeal at the sight of them. Breakfasts consisted of honey and fresh cream and bread that was still warm out of the oven. The windows were left open, so Birla's family smial of Bag End smelled of freshly cut grass, the wild roses in her mother's garden and the stuffy smell of winter was chased out of the home for good. There was nothing Birla loved more than sitting out in the garden this time of year, working her way through her latest book while her mother and Aster dug in the garden.

   This was her favorite pastime, however, it was on a bright and sunny Trewsday that Birla found herself all alone in Bag End. Sigrún was gone, off with her friends. Bryony was apprenticing under Violet Fowley in Bywater to become a healer. They'd gone on a supply run to Frogmorton last week, just after Morion's party. Bryony wasn't due back for another day, maybe two depending on how long it took for them to get back to Bywater. So, when Bella left for her weekly trip to the market with Aster and Morion, Birla, who had opted to stay home, was left by herself in their family smial.

   Birla was not an idle child. She spent her days carefully practicing her writing, reading her way through Bella's library, and helping her mother with the chores around the house. But, today, all her writing practice was done, Birla couldn't find any books to hold her fancy, and the chores were either finished, or couldn't be done until Bella came back with fresh supplies from the market. It took only a fifteen minutes spent staring up at Grandmother Belladonna and Grandpa Bungo's portraits over the front room's fireplace for Birla to decide that it was time to go out before she drove herself mad. She gathered a book of Dwarven history, just in case she changed her mind about reading, and set out of Bag End with the sole purpose of finding Sigrún and her friends and tagging along with them.

***

   Bella was halfway through mixing up a batch of biscuits for after dinner when the back door slammed open and she could hear Birla and Sigrún tramping into the house, Sigrún giggling madly at who knew what. Aster, who was lending moral support while Bella baked, looked up from the wire he was carefully twisting into what vaguely resembled a bracelet.

   “Momma!” Sigrún called breathlessly. “Momma, look what I've got!” Bella was almost afraid to look. Sigrún had an incorrigible habit of bringing home all sorts of creatures, big and small, injured and hale, from her adventures across the Shire. Over the years, there had been frogs, turtles, rabbits, baby birds, grown birds, quite a number of kittens and cats, and, once in a rather terrifying turn of events, a badger that, after escaping Sigrún's tight hold, had taken residence in the root cellar and hadn't been able to be moved for days. The last time she'd been begged to see “what Sigrún'd got”, she'd ended up face-to-face with a rather confused looking toad, almost as big as Sigrún. Sigrún had cried and moped for almost a week after Bella had ordered her to take the poor thing back to wherever she'd found it.

   “Please, not another badger,” she prayed under her breath.

   “What?” Sigrún asked as she came into the kitchen. Bella smiled, looking over at her. Sigrún's wild, inky curls had escaped from their usual tight braids, her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and, yes, Bella could see the foretold dirt and mud smeared across her face and on her dress and stocky arms and legs.

   “Nothing, darling,” she fibbed. “What is it you've got?” Sigrún smiled widely, teeth missing where they'd been falling out lately, and pulled her hands out from behind her back.

   “Isn't he cute?” She beamed up at Bella, proud of her find.

   It was small, though not so small that Sigrún could hold it one-handed. Its small, pointed nose was sniffing warily at the room. It took Bella a moment to recognize the creature. Then it dawned on her. It was a hedgehog. “Where did you find him?” Bella had to ask. She needed to know which neighbor to apologize to for Sigrún's jaunt through their garden. Sigrún just shrugged.

   “Found 'im when we were playing sardines.” Sigrún said evasively. “Look,” she carefully flipped the hedgehog so Bella could see a gash on his hind leg, “he's bleeding.” Bella wondered how far Sigrún had had to dig to get to the poor thing. Her hands and forearms must have been caked in dirt and crushed grass at one point, though Sigrún had obviously made some effort to clean herself off. There was still dirt under her fingernails, though, and there were dirty hand prints on her skirt from where she'd lifted it to aid in her running. “Can I keep 'im Momma? Can I, _please_?” Sigrún bounced in place, staring up at Bella with wide, begging eyes.

   “Well,” Bella said slowly, “Sigrún, love, I'm not sure having such a small animal with Beren would be the best idea.”

   “You let me keep Tort!” Sigrún reminded her. Bella looked over Sigrún's shoulder to the parlor, where she could see the tortoise Sigrún had brought home almost three years ago being used as a paperweight for her yet-to-be-mailed thank you notes for the attendees of Morion's birthday party. “And—and Beren hasn't gone after 'im yet.” the large, half-wolf bitch by the oven lifted her head at the sound of her name, ears perked forward. “And he's so small, he won't be any bother.” Sigrún looked down at the hedgehog, shoulders starting to slump. “He can eat the greens I don't like . . .”

   “You keep Beren from eating him, and he's all yours.” Bella said firmly. Sigrún nodded somberly, clutching the hedgehog to her chest protectively. Beren whined, head falling back to the floor. Bella chuckled. She knew the dog wasn't likely to eat Sigrún's latest pet. That lazy dog was massive, but she was calm and had the softest heart in the world.

   “They eat worms, you know,” Sigrún said as she put the hedgehog under one arm and started for the pantry. “I think I'm naming him a Dwarf name this time.” She called down the hall. “Something from Poppa's storybook.”

   “Don't shout,” Bella yelled, before looking over at Birla, where she was washing her hands in the sink. It wasn't a surprise to Bella that Birla was significantly cleaner than Sigrún at the moment. “We're starting dinner cooking soon. Could you fetch some things from the garden for me?” Birla hummed affirmative. “Just some sorrel, rosemary, and . . . oh, some sage. Chicken pie is always in need of sage.”

   After dinner was over, it took quite a bit of convincing to get Sigrún to take a bath, but it always took convincing to get her to take baths. Bella got her into the water eventually and scrubbed her from head to hairy toe, removing the layer of grime Sigrún had gathered on her day's adventures through Hobbiton. Then it was suppertime. While Bella and Sigrún cleaned up after the meal, the rest of the children went about bathing and changing into their nightclothes. Everyone having been appropriately cleaned, it was time for the Bagginses' nightly ritual of brushing and braiding their hair before bed.

   Kagin had started this back when he and Bella were still courting. He'd taught her about braids, what he could remember of them anyway, and what each weave and placement meant. Bella had done her best to remember his careful lessons over the years, passing the knowledge onto her children. Every night before bed and every morning before any of them left the house, she had the children sit on her bed and they all talked while Bella gently brushed their hair out and, either put their hair into loose sleeping braids, or put in the plaits and beads that told any dwarf looking any number of identifying things, such as place of birth in their family's children, social status, family line, trade, and marital status (though the latter two weren't to be added until her children were very much older).

   While Bella worked on Morion's thick, black hair, Birla nursed a cup of tea from the pot Bella had made a few minutes previously. Sigrún was sitting in the rocking chair that had once been in the nursery, her newly named hedgehog, Telchar, in her lap. Bella had gotten Telchar cleaned and sewn up earlier, but the thing was still tipsy from the drops of brandy she'd given him to numb the pain of the procedure. Telchar wobbled uncertainly to Sigrún's knee. Bella chuckled as Sigrún carefully caught him around his stomach and pulled him back farther up her lap.

   “Momma,” Morion said quietly as Bella ran a brush through her hair. The tangles were mostly out, Bella was just brushing because it calmed Morion so much.

   “Mm?” Bella hummed.

   “I . . . should we _not_ have beards?” She asked so softly, sounding so insecure, that Bella's heart stopped for a moment. She couldn't comprehend Morion's question. It made her thoughts grind to a halt. Everything paused and then fired back to life with a vengeance.

   “Where did you hear that?” Bella had been relieved this morning that, at least, Morion hadn't heard her aunt's harsh words about her and her siblings' beards, but maybe she'd been standing closer than Bella had thought or maybe someone else had brought it up with Morion. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the others shifting awkwardly. Morion shrugged, hair pulling out of Bella's hands as her head dropped forward.

   “Around,” she mumbled. Bella forcefully put the brush down.

   “'Around' where?” She asked sharply. Too sharply. Morion flinched and Bella forced herself to calm down a bit before asking again. “Who've you heard saying that, love?” She pulled Morion back onto her lap, curling around her youngest as if to protect her from the words of her neighbors.

   “The Gamgee boy says it.” Birla said shortly from her spot at the foot of the bed. She had her nose buried in a book of old Shire children's tales.

   “Which one? Hamfast?” Sigrún snorted at Bella's question.

   “Uh-uh,” she said firmly. “Andy.” Bella scowled, but was gentle as she pulled Morion closer into her arms.

   “There is _nothing_ wrong with your beards.” Bella kissed Morion's hair, nuzzling into it for her own reassurance as much as Morion's. “You're all just the way you should be. Anyone who says otherwise should be sent to me so I can set them straight.”

***

   The next morning, Bella was woken by the sensation of a large, warm thing collapsing on her body. Fur came into her nose and, before Beren could start licking her, Bella put a hand on the bitch's closest body part and shoved.

   “Get off, you lump,” she grunted, opening her eyes to the sight of Beren's huge black body heaving itself off her chest. Bella clambered out of bed and stretched, far enough to leave her body shaking at the effort. She gave a large yawn and started for her wardrobe. Through her open window, she could see the sun was already up, but not too far. It couldn't be past eight or nine in the morning.

   Bella quickly got dressed and headed into the kitchen to get started on breakfast. She, Aster, and Birla had made quite a lot of seed cakes, scones, and pies yesterday, but today was to be spent making breads and rolls. While Bella cooked up a feast of eggs, tomatoes, potatoes, bacon, and ham for breakfast, she made doubly sure that she had everything she'd need for the recipes she was planning to make. By the time she had selected her recipes and inventoried the pantry, Sigrún and Birla, her two early risers, had been pulled out of bed by the scent of breakfast wafting through Bag End's halls. Aster and Morion didn't join them until everything was done cooking and Sigrún was already finished with her food. She was playing with Beren by trying to see how much food she could sneak her before Bella caught on and sent the dog from the kitchen. This morning, it lasted until Sigrún took an entire slab of ham off the table and Bella, at the sound of Beren's chewing under the table, discovered Beren crunching on the ham's bone with an air of deep satisfaction.

   “Oh, Sigrún, what've I told you about feeding the dog food off the table?” Bella groaned. “She gets the food _after_ we're done with it, not _before_.” Sigrún was completely unapologetic.

   Breakfast was over soon after that, but before Morion and Sigrún could leave to see if any of their friends were up and ready to play yet, it was time for braiding. Bella got her children's hair brushed and braided. She put in the small metal beads and clasps, carved with the pattern Kagin had designed for their family, and made especially sure that her more curly-haired children (namely Sigrún and Aster) had their hair properly and securely tied. As Morion and Sigrún scampered off to the study, where Birla was ready to start their daily Khuzdul lessons without their mother, Bella got her brush out and started on her own hair.

   This was something Bella usually did on her own, unless one of the children stayed to curiously watch her weave her hair into its typical bun and braids. She had quite a few clasps and beads for her hair, made over the years by Kagin before his disappearance. A few were metal, made of the scraps and small bits of silver and gold that Kagin had salvaged or saved for, but more were made of the wood that he had always said looked far better in her hair. The most important, in Bella's mind, was the pale reddish bead, carved out of cherry wood with a pattern of ivy vines and set with an emerald and a moonstone on either side. Kagin had painstakingly picked the moonstone and carved the tiny ivy vines and leaves on the bead so he could braid it into her hair at their wedding. It was a marriage bead. Same as the ring Bella wore on her right ring finger and the four-stranded braid the bead hung at the end of, it told the world that she was attached and content to remain that way. Bella took a moment to inspect the bead, looking for signs of wear, before adding it to the bottom of the small braid that fell down almost to her shoulder, just in front of her ear. After the identifying braids were done, Bella tied the rest of her hair back into a coil braid, which tucked into the usual neat bun most married hobbit-ladies wore. Ready for the day, Bella left her bedroom and made for the front step to check to see if Holman had come by yet. On the way, she peered into the study where the children were gathered.

   Kagin had explained that the native language of the dwarrow was a sacred, secret thing. No outsiders were allowed to learn it. However, Kagin hadn't seen the sense in keeping Bella from learning a language often spoken in her own home. Between his lessons and the amount it was used around the house later on with the children, Bella had quickly caught on to the basics and then finer points of Khuzdul. She spoke it as well now as Kagin had and endeavored to teach the children their forefathers' language as well as she knew how. It was something they shared now, that kept them connected to the memory of their father. It was memory as old as the Seven Fathers and Bella was determined they wouldn't forget. As she taught them Khuzdul, Bella often felt the reverence Kagin had had for it. It was a solid language that grounded and strengthened those who spoke it. The sacred language of Mahal himself. It hurt at times to remember the words Kagin had carefully taught her over the years, to know he would never hear them again from his children. Bella knew, though, that these lessons were necessary. Her children were as much dwarf as they were hobbit and learning Khuzdul was the least of things they could do to connect to their ancestors. Yes, Bella was quite insistent they learn it as well as the common tongue and an elvish dialect or two.

   When Khuzdul was done, she put them through their paces with Westron and Sindarin. Bella had grown up fiercely loving not only adventures into the woods with her Took cousins and braver Hobbiton children, but also the many books that Bungo had collected in his study. Reading was just as magical as imagined fairies, wizards, and elves in the woods. She had tried her hardest to instill her love of books in her children. Birla, Aster, and Morion had latched on with great enthusiasm and devoured the books Bella gave them, with the exception of a few of the drier history books. Bryony liked to read too, but preferred works of fiction to those of fact. Sigrún read, but only when she had to. She loved stories of great deeds and adventures, but preferred hearing them aloud from a storyteller to reading them from a book on her own. And, if given the choice between a day spent outside making her own stories or a day spent indoors reading, Sigrún would choose to be outside without a second thought. Bella thought it was quite a good day when Sigrún managed to wait until after second breakfast to leave the house.

   Second breakfast was a quiet affair. Sigrún went digging in the garden for worms for Telchar and came to the table with dirty hands full of wriggling pink earthworms that made Morion squeal and scramble for cover behind Bella's skirts. Bella let her feed Telchar, but then insisted Sigrún wash her hands before she came to eat.

   When the meal was done, there was already a small cluster of fauntlings at the backdoor, waiting for Morion and Sigrún. In the group, Bella could see the two oldest Gamgee boys, Andwise and Hamfast. She had half a mind to go outside and give Andy a talking to, but decided against it as Sigrún and Morion went rushing out of the house. No need to spoil their morning with her concerns. She could talk to the boys or their parents later, if she wanted. So Bella let it go and started stoking the oven so they'd be ready for the bread to be made later. Not long after that, Goldie Cloverfield, her washing girl, showed up at the backdoor to hang their finished laundry. Bella cast an eye over the laundry to make sure that everything Goldie had picked up yesterday morning to wash was there. Once she was sure everything was where it belonged, Bella let Goldie up to the clotheslines on top of the Hill to do her work.

   At that point, Aster and Birla were occupied on the Hill, doing Valar only knew what. Bella could smell the freshly washed linens and clothes on the breeze that fluttered across the Hill as she peered around her vegetable garden, checking for weeds. It didn't take long, and then Bella found herself with some quiet time to relax. So, she took the embroidery she was putting on Bryony's new party dress and spread out on the bench on Bag End's front step to enjoy the sun before something her brood did dragged her back into the beautiful chaos of motherhood. Bella also brought out one of Kagin's old pipes. She carefully looked up and down the lane to make sure there were no passersby about, and then prepared the pipe and got it lit. Bella hadn't always smoked, and she didn't do it often now, but the smell of Kagin's favorite blend was a nice reminder of him, mutters from the neighbors about lady-like habits be damned. Once the pipe was smoking strong enough that it wouldn't blow out, she carefully put it on the bench next to her and gave the smoke a gentle waft to get it spreading around before starting her work on the embroidery. Every so often, Bella had to stop to get the pipe smoking again, when the embers died down too much. Chuckling to herself, she blew clumsy smoke rings when she did. Kagin had tried teaching her how to do it, but she'd never gotten them quite right. They always turned out more like ink splotches that circles. And they wobbled. Still . . . Bella blew out another smoke ring, closing her eyes to enjoy the sun on her face and the faint sound of Aster and Birla talking faintly on the top of the Hill. The moment was shattered when a puff of smoke blew into her face, making her splutter. She blinked heavily through the smoke and, looking to the side, she realized there was someone standing at her front gate.

   It was a Man, impossibly tall and towering over her, even though he was leaning heavily on the long, gnarled walking stick he held. Bella had the feeling she knew him, but, having been on more than a few trips to Bree in her life, she couldn't fathom from where. He was old, face creased with age, with long gray hair coming out from under his hat, and a long, bushy, gray beard spilling down his front. The pointy hat he was wearing cast his face into shadow and only served to make him seem taller than he was. It made Bella feel ridiculously small, though she was a respectable height for a hobbit woman. She straightened her back, frowning up at the stranger.

   “Good morning,” she said shortly as she took the pipe out of her mouth and held it down in her lap. She felt a bit silly for saying it, but it was the only thing she could think of at the moment. The stranger squinted down at her for a moment before speaking.

   “What do you mean?” He asked, sounding slightly admonishing. “Do you mean to wish me a good morning or do you mean that it is a good morning, whether I want it or not?” Bella just barely kept her mouth from falling open. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to respond to the question, or even if she was supposed to. “Or do you mean that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?” He tilted his head inquisitively, smiling softly. Bella floundered for a good long moment, in a way she hadn't since a much younger Bryony had turned to her one day and innocently asked where all of Mrs. Claymore's children were coming from. Then she remembered herself and took a calming breath, drawing herself up to deal with this visitor.

   “All of them at once.” She said firmly. “Though why you must question such a greeting is beyond me. Who are you that you can't take a nice 'good morning' without turning it into something more than it is?” He straightened up a bit and the smile disappeared as he grumbled under his breath. Bella felt as though she'd failed to meet some expectation he'd had of her. She refused to be intimidated; she wondered who this man was and what business he could possibly have asking her cryptic questions about her “good morning”s. She shifted on the bench as the Man continued to stare disapprovingly down at her. Was he waiting for her to say something? She looked up Bagshot Row, hoping that someone else was going to come along and have some disaster that needed her presence to be fixed. When it became clear that relief wasn't on its way, Bella steeled her nerves and looked back up to the stranger. “Well? Can I help you?” She wasn't sure she wanted an answer to that question.

   “That remains to be seen,” he said vaguely. Bella didn't like the sound of that at all. “I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure.” Bella nearly fell off her bench. An adventure? No, goodness no. She hadn't been on anything even remotely resembling one since Kagin had disappeared. She had a family to take care of, after all. And then there were the neighbors to think of. They talked enough already without—Valar, no, no adventures.

   Her thoughts must have shown on her face because the Man's frown deepened before she even opened her mouth to splutter out, “An adventure?” She shook her head firmly. “No, I don't imagine anyone here in the Shire would have much interest in adventures.” Bella gathered up her embroidery, suddenly wanting to be as far from this stranger as she could get. “Certainly not _me_. Five children that need looking after, and a household to keep running.” She shut her sewing kit and started for the postbox. The post had to have come already and it would give her a reason to start moving toward the door. Yes, there were a few letters inside that surely would need her immediate attention. “I've got plenty to do without adventures pulling me away from hearth and home.” She turned her back firmly to him and started sifting through the mail.

   Most people would have left by now, though most people wouldn't have gotten such an abrupt and rude dismissal. But, when Bella glanced warily up from the post, hoping the stranger had wandered off to harass some other unsuspecting person, the man was still there, staring down at her with all the disapproval of a disappointed parent. Bella didn't like the feeling that she'd fallen short in his eyes. Who was this stranger to judge her anyway, for trying to be at least a bit respectable and proper after the mess she'd made so far of her reputation? So, Bella gave him one last “good morning” and started shuffling up the stairs.

   “To think that I should've lived to be 'good morning'ed by Belladonna Took's daughter,” the old man said harshly, making Bella pause at the sound of her mother's name, “as if I was selling buttons at the door.” Bella pivoted to face him as he walked a little down the lane, so he was almost at eye level with her. She frowned down at him. Who was this man? How did he know her mother's name? The only Big Folk Belladonna had ever known had stopped their rare visits after her death. No Man had had any business in Hobbiton after that. Who—oh, goodness! Bella felt quite silly indeed. It was Gandalf! She recognized him now—the hat and his staff were unmistakeable, but goodness, it had been years since she'd last seen him. Bella felt she owed herself a little leniency for not having recognized him right off.

   “Gandalf, I certainly wouldn't expect someone who hasn't seen me in nigh on twenty years to recognize me, if I were you.” She smiled as she spun toward him. She felt as though she were scolding one of her children for an ill-thought-out prank. Gandalf just smiled.

   “Yes, well, one would expect a Baggins of all people to remember guests, no matter how long it's been. Especially ones they saw so much of during their youth.” He raised a teasing brow. Bella huffed.

   Remember a guest, indeed. Bella only had vague childhood memories of a larger than life wizard in gray, who brought fireworks and the occasional trip out of the Shire for her mother surfaced in Bella's mind. He'd come through for Belladonna's funeral and then a little later for her and Kagin's wedding and that had been the last time she'd seen him. How was she meant to have remembered him after all this time?

   “Gandalf, good gracious, you can't be too surprised I didn't recognize you.” Bella felt a bit embarrassed, not knowing Gandalf when he came to call. If her mother were still alive, she'd have given her a swat for her behavior, married with children or not. “It's been such a long time, after all. I haven't seen you since the wedding! Those were such excellent fireworks, just amazing.” She sighed happily at the memory, though the exact fireworks were a little hazy given how Kagin had been trying his best to get her away from the party and into their bed at that point. “And Old Took used to have them on Midsummer's Eve.” Gandalf chuckled. Bella realized then that she might be getting a bit off topic. “I had no idea you were still in business.”

   Gandalf's chagrined smile disappeared.

   “And where else should I be?” He asked sharply. Bella felt her ears warm. She chuckled awkwardly, casting around for a change in topic. Maybe that disaster she'd been hoping for would come along now . . . She cleared her throat as a painful silence stretched. Gandalf's shaded eyes narrowed. “Well, I'm pleased to find you remember something about me, even if it's only my fireworks.” He finally said, just when Bella felt she might explode from embarrassment. Yes, he seemed quite upset that Bella remembered his fireworks the best, though she couldn't imagine why. They were the best fireworks in the Shire, possibly in all of Middle Earth. "I've just remembered, though, that I also have some news for you." Bella frowned disapprovingly. It was never good when someone changed the topic of conversation so suddenly.

   "What news?" She couldn't help but ask. Gandalf considered her for a long moment, then shook his head.

   "I'm afraid it will take some time to tell and now is not the moment for such things. If not go on an adventure, would you at least give an old man the pleasure of taking supper with you this evening? So we have the proper time to talk about what I have to tell you." Bella wondered what news he could possibly have that couldn't be said now, but far be it from her to question wizards and their ways.

   "Yes," she said slowly, though she was reluctant at all to have him for dinner, after the upset he'd just given her. "You can come for a late supper, but I'll not hear any more talk of adventures, Gandalf. Not one word!" Gandalf gave her a good long look, sighed, and nodded decisively.

   “Yes, well, that's decided. It'll be very good for you,” he pointed a crooked finger at her, “and most amusing for me.” What? “I shall inform the others.” Who? Was he talking about the dinner or the adventure now? Oh, damn that wizard. Could he never speak plainly?

   “Wha—inform who—what? _No_. No, no, no,” if this was about the previously mentioned adventure, Gandalf could put it out of his mind. Bella was not her mother. She didn't have the time, resources, or desire to go on any adventures. Bella hurried up the last few steps to the door, suddenly anxious to get inside away from her mother's mad old friend. “We don't want _any_ adventures here, thank you.” She whirled around on the top step to face Gandalf again, letters waving and pipe perilously close to scattering ashes everywhere. “Not today, not—I've a _family_ to look after, Gandalf, and no one to mind them should I decide to go running off. I'm sorry, but I am not my mother. I suggest you try Bree or elsewhere, if you truly need a companion for your adventure.” One foot on Bag End's threshold, Bella shooed him with the mail and pipe. "I'll have you for dinner tonight, if you'd still like to come, but I _must_ insist on you putting an adventure out of your mind." Gandalf said nothing in response to her flustered words, so, after a moment spent wondering if she should just slam the door or at least attempt a civil goodbye, Bella gave him one last, “Good morning,” and rushed into Bag End, shutting the door and locking it once she was safely inside.

   Heart pounding in her ears, Bella leaned back against the door, trying to calm herself. She clutched at Bryony's dress and the now somewhat crumpled letters in her other hand. Heavens, but Gandalf had given her a scare. What was in his mind, inviting her along on an adventure? Maybe she would have taken him up on it, had she been younger with no children tying her to the Shire, but she'd learned over the years that there were some things that had to be put aside for the sake of her family and her propriety and going on adventures was one of them. Bella pressed the back of the hand holding the letters and pipe to her forehead. Goodness, and she'd thought she'd be getting peace and quiet sitting out in front of the house.

   Before Bella could move away from the door, there came a faint scratching noise from outside. It sounded like Beren asking to be let in, but Bella knew Beren was out with the girls today, having been dragged along by Morion. Bella dropped her sewing and the letters and the pipe, which sent embers spilling across the floor, and dashed for the window to see what was going on. Gandalf straightened from a crouch in front of her door and then, without warning, peered in through the window at her. Bella was not ashamed to admit that she jumped a great deal and then ran to hide behind the nearest wall until she was sure Gandalf had left. Then she carefully peered out the window, but all she could see on Bagshot Row was the retreating figure of Gandalf as he disappeared in the direction of the main road.

***

   One of the letters that had been delivered to Bag End was written on low quality parchment that was worn from its long journey from the Blue Mountains. Stealing herself away into her study, Bella opened it first before all the others; if she was getting news from there, it must be truly important. The letter was dated nearly two weeks ago and was written in too-large, clumsy Westron. The letter read:

_Bella,_

_Hoping this letter finds you and the children well. It probably has, Shire life seems to treat you all well most days. The family is doing well too. You last asked after Bruni and Mardis. They're both fine, though Bombur now swears up and down this is the last child they'll have, after the trouble Bruni went through. Mardis has started teething. Every time I visit I have to keep my fingers away, or she'll try to take them right off._

_I'd best get to the point, I suppose. Last year one of King Thorin's advisers came around the neighborhood, asking for anyone interested in a venture to reclaim Erebor. Not many took him up, but we need the money so bad, I figured it wouldn't hurt to have a go at the mountain. They've promised more gold than can be imagined, if we reclaim it, and free ale and food along the way. Only thirteen of us, we've been looking after another member to break the bad luck, but none of the dwarrow will come and no Man we know is going to risk life and limb for Erebor. Just a fortnight ago, Tharkûn came through town to talk to Thorin and offered to find us a burglar to help on the way. Now he's sent news. Says he's found one in the Shire of all places! And he gave us instructions on how to get to their house. It's been some time since I last stayed at your home, but I could have sworn you lived at the house at the top of the Hill in Hobbiton, not a burglar. I don't suppose you've taken up theft in your spare time, have you?_

_We'll be leaving later today to start for the burglar's house. I'm sending this ahead and giving them all my extra coin so it gets delivered before we reach Hobbiton, even if only by a day. We should be reaching the Shire sometime in the middle of the month and Hobbiton perhaps half a week after. In the event that you are the burglar (and wouldn't that be something) you should expect thirteen of us. If you're not the burglar, I'll be coming by with Bifur and Bombur in any case to get a visit to you and the family while I can. Wishing you all the luck until we meet again._

_Yours, Bofur_

   Bella read the letter once, twice, three times through and then used some very unladylike language to let Gandalf know just what she thought of him. A burglar! There most certainly was not a burglar living at the top of the Hill—no one did but the Baggins family. And, the way he'd spoken, Gandalf had made it sound like either he hadn't spoken to anyone else or hadn't been able to find anyone else to go on his little adventure. Almost all the way across the known areas of Middle Earth, through the Misty Mountains and the Greenwood and who knew what they'd face on the way, let alone when they finally got to the Longbeards' lost mountain. And they expected her to go! Bella's heart raced at the very thought. Valars' sake, she'd never burgled anything in her life, save the times she'd had to steal back silverware or jewelry from visitors with sticky fingers. But to go against (if her memories of Bofur's stories of Erebor were accurate) one of the last dragons of Middle Earth? Absolutely not! What in the world could Gandalf be thinking? He hadn't said—ooh, she really was going to kill that wizard!

   He'd said he would inform the others. At the time, Bella had assumed it meant he'd given up, but maybe not. If he'd already told this King Thorin person, as well as the rest of the company, that he'd found a burglar—Valars' sake, was that the news he wanted to tell her?! That he'd been spreading rumors about her being a burglar to foreign royalty? Bella was going to faint. She sat down before she got any dizzier and put a hand over her racing heart.

   Another look at the date on the letter made Bella's heart flutter anew. They'd be here by now, or just about. Goodness, they could be here any day now and they were expecting a burglar to be waiting for them. Bella jumped to her feet and dashed out of the study, leaving Bofur's letter behind.

   Well, when they came she'd be ready for them. She would entertain them, give them food and a rest before they started the rest of their journey (after all, what kind of hobbit, let alone Baggins, would she be able to call herself if she didn't put up visitors after they'd come all the way from the Blue Mountains), but, no, she would not be going with them. That would have to be cleared up right away. She was not the burglar they were looking for, nor were they likely to find one in this area. Maybe once they got to Bree they could find someone willing to go reclaim their mountain with them. But, Valar, if she was going to be entertaining thirteen dwarrow sometime in the next few days (probably today, if Gandalf was thinking to invite them along to dinner—the damn cheek), she was going to have a full day of cooking and baking ahead of her.

   “Damn that wizard,” Bella grumbled as she started into the kitchen. “Damn him and damn that pointy hat of his too.”

***

   “Bryony, _what_ have I told you about running about with precious cargo? You'll break the bottles if you're not careful.” In her defense, Bryony Baggins hadn't exactly been running. More like walking briskly, or trotting. But Violet was particular about the transport of supplies and didn't trust anything past a healthy stroll for her precious glass bottles. They were wrapped in cotton and tied together to avoid such disaster; Bryony heavily doubted the jars and bottles for herbs and poultices she was carrying would so much as crack as long as she went any slower than a lolloping gallop across a rocky field. Still . . .

   “Sorry,” she said softly, slowing her walk until she was back to strolling beside Violet. Bryony couldn't help but look up at the sky again as they walked. It was already dark, but they had been close enough to the Water when the sun had set that Violet had decided to keep them walking so they'd reach Bywater and then Hobbiton tonight. She couldn't help the small sigh that escaped her. Right about now, it would be just before bedtime. Everyone would be in her mother's room to braid their hair. Bryony had had to braid her own hair for the past week, though that wasn't anything new. She'd been away from home quite a lot since her apprenticeship had begun. But Bryony was looking forward to a couple nights spent at home and she'd be glad to get there before braiding tonight.

   “We'll be home soon enough.” Violet said pointedly. “No need to sigh so much.” Bryony grinned sheepishly over at her. They were getting close. Up ahead, Bryony could see where the road forked, one branch going north to Hobbiton and Bywater and the other continuing west to the road that led out of the Shire and up to the Blue Mountains.

   “Sorry, I've just been a little homesick, that's all.” She mumbled.

   They were almost through Bywater when, as they were going past the Green Dragon, Bryony heard something that made her skid to a stop.

   “—for a person named Baggins. Said I could find 'im up the hill.” Bryony whirled around, peering into the cluster of men standing outside the Green Dragon, all surrounding one figure that stood head and shoulders above the crowd. It was a dwarf. Stocky, heavily muscled, and sporting a thick, bushy beard and set of intricate tattoos on his bald head. He had a pair of axes strapped to his back. Bryony's jaw dropped at the sight of him. He was talking to their gardener, Holman Greenhand, who looked more than a little frightened and flustered as he gestured in the direction of Bag End.

   “Well, you'd certainly be able to—Bryony!” He spotted her as he looked off toward the Hill and waved her over. “Come on over, Bryony.” Holman then spoke to the man saying, “She 'n Violet are goin' up there anyway.” Bryony was almost to them at that point, the men moving away as it seemed the dwarf's problem had been solved. “'ere,” Holman put his hand on Bryony's shoulder as she came to stand next to him, “this is Bryony. Bryony, this is Master Dwalin. 'e's got business up'n Bag End.”

   “What for?” Violet's asked sharply, appearing at Holman's elbow with unnerving swiftness. Holman rolled his eyes and grumbled about sticking noses into others' business. “You here for that good-for-nothin' husband of 'ers?” Bryony's stomach churned. She'd never liked it when people talked about her da like that. Master Dwalin blinked owlishly down at the spirited healer.

   “'Scuse me?” He said gruffly.

   “'Cause if you are, you can run back an' tell 'im it's too late. You don't skip out and then come swannin' back like nothin' happened. We've all looked after Mrs. Bella these years, an' if he's comin' back to give her trouble, you bet your axes we'll make trouble for 'im right back!” By the end of her impassioned speech, Violet was right up in the dwarf's face, poking him firmly on the chest to emphasize her words. Holman rubbed wearily at his forehead.

   “ _Violet_ ,” he sighed heavily, “he's here on business. Gandalf sent 'im.” Violet's scowl lessened, but only just.

   “Not much better, if you ask me.” She grumbled. “That old coot's more trouble than 'e's worth.” Holman sighed.

   “Masters Bifur and Bofur were up earlier," he said, "with another one I think might be a cousin, saying others'd be comin' behind them. 'E must be with them.” Bryony perked up at this news.

   “They're here?” Holman smiled down at her.

   “Aye, came jus' past tea, wanderin' up the road. Stopped to give me some o' the tater-cakes they make that Lara's so fond of.” The last part was said with a smug grin and two thumbs hooked in his suspenders. Violet gave the dwarf a shrewd look.

   “Well, if you're up 'ere with that lot, I guess Mrs. Bella won't be too unhappy to see ya.”

   That's how they ended up trudging toward Bag End with an extra person tagging along. Master Dwalin was quiet and serious. He didn't talk to them much past the initial, gruff thanks for their assistance. Violet made Bryony walk on the other side of her, to keep her away from the obviously warrior dwarf. Violet kept shooting him suspicious sidelong glances as they walked, occasionally muttering something about “strange folk” and “good-for-nothing” as if Bryony were unable to hear her grumbling. It wasn't until they were passing the Gamgees' smial that Bryony worked up her courage to speak up.

   “Momma's not going to be happy about this.” She said to Violet, though she said it loud enough for Master Dwalin to hear. He gave an inquiring grunt, staring down at her questioningly. Bryony shrugged. “She doesn't usually like visitors this time of night. It's hard enough getting Sigrún in bed without excitement adding to it.” Bryony sighed at the memory of all the nights Sigrún had turned bedtime into a battle of wills between her and Bella. No one who'd met her could ever say that Sigrún was weak-willed.

   But Bag End was quiet when they came to the gate, no signs of an attempt to skip out of going to bed and the subsequent scrimmage between parent and child. The lights were still on, though, so Bryony guessed that Bella must still be up, perhaps having a late supper with Bifur and Bofur before retiring for the night. She held the gate for Violet and Master Dwalin and then hurried up the stairs past them to get to the door first. There was the strangest rune glowing on it. Bryony paused to squint at it for a moment before continuing on. She tried the handle first, and the door opened without any trouble. The large, green door to Bag End swung inward without sound. Worn travel packs and Bofur's familiar pickaxe were piled neatly by the door. Bryony stepped over the threshold and peered into the parlor.

   “ _'Amad_?” She called hesitantly. Bella was sitting at the kitchen table with Bifur, Bofur, and a redhaired dwarf Bryony had never seen before. Bryony whooped at the sight of her surrogate uncles and raced toward the kitchen. Even as Bella hushed her, trying to keep things quiet for those sleeping, Bofur twisted out of his seat and jumped up in time to catch Bryony about the waist and heft her into the air. She squealed.

   “There she is!” Bofur cried. He pulled her close to his chest and pressed a smiling kiss to her curly hair. “It's good to see ya, lass.” He gave Bryony another swing before setting her down on her feet. They gently pressed their foreheads together in greeting and Bofur took a short step back from Bryony to get a better look at her. A large hand was planted on her forehead and he pushed back the hair that had escaped from her braids. “Bella here says you've been off in Frogmorton for yer apprenticeship.” Bryony nodded emphatically.

   “I've been gone getting new supplies with Miss Violet.” She couldn't help but puff out her chest a bit as she spoke. She'd never gone away on a trip during her apprenticeship before and Violet had been happy with her ability to identify good supplies at the market. “Momma's gone put in an apprenticeship braid in my hair!” Bryony had to fish a bit in her riotous curls, but eventually produced a small, thin braid telling of her apprenticeship to a healer.

   “That's a right good one,” Bofur leaned over to carefully inspect the braid. Bifur crowded behind him to peer at it as well, nearly knocking his cousin into Bryony.

   “Bryony,” Bella spoke up from the kitchen, where she was still seated at the table. “Why don't you go on and get ready for bed? You all can catch up tomorrow. I've got a long night ahead, love.” Bryony picked up on her mother's deliberate tone and nodded immediately, pulling away from Bofur and Bifur.

   “ _Zann galikh_ ,” she was given kisses from Bifur and Bofur and then she trotted off down the hall to the bathroom to get washed up before bed.

   There was a short moment of silence, until the sound of the bathroom door shutting down the hall was heard. Then Bella turned her attention to the dwarf standing in the doorway of her home.

   He was tall and built thick and sturdy. Bushy black hair grew on his face, but was absent from the very top of his head, which was covered instead with thick black lines tattooed on his scalp. He sported a pair of large battle axes on his back and a thick, metal set of knuckle dusters on each hand. All in all, he created a very intimidating image. Bella would have felt a bit faint, looking at him, had she not had all the experience she did with dwarrow. Rough looking lot, they usually turned out rather nice once you got to know them. As it was, Bella decided it was time to get him farther into the house and sit him down for the food she'd spent all day preparing for their party. Bofur beat her to it.

   “Finally decided to show up, eh, Master Dwalin?” He called as he took his seat at the kitchen table. “The rest of you lot followin' behind? Food's gonna go cold b'fore they get here.” Bella rolled her eyes.

   “Please, master dwarf, take your boots off and you can put your weapons in the box by the door.” She indicated toward the chest she'd set up near the door just earlier that day in anticipation of her guests. He bowed his head and hurried to the door to put his things in a neat pile there. “And now, I think, introductions are in order. My name is Belladonna Baggins the Second, and I welcome you to my home. My family and I are at your service.” She gave a short bow, enough to be polite.

   “Dwalin, at yours.” His voice was low and powerful, rumbling with a soft brogue.

   “You must be hungry, Master Dwalin.” Bella said and swept an arm back in the direction of the dining room. “The dining room is down the hall. We've made some supper for your company. Please help yourself to as much food as you'd like.”

***

   The dining room was warmly lit and on the table there was, as promised, supper. Though Mistress Baggins's words seemed an understatement. Its table was set for a large party and laden with so much food that Dwalin, great eater that he was, didn't know where to start. There were meats of every kind, three chickens roasted in different manners, pheasant, pot roast, sausages, fried fish. Dishes of _kassub labamuslukh_ the size of his head, baked potatoes, fried tomatoes, savory pies, candied carrots, and a veritable tower of cheese wheels graced the table as well. On the far end, a table was set with barrels of ale and enough tankards to keep a small battalion stocked for at least a fortnight. Dwalin could hardly believe his eyes. Bofur's guffawing laugh broke his reverie and Dwalin took a seat firmly toward the head of the table, where Thorin would no doubt be sitting when he arrived. He piled his plate high with sausages, _kassub labamuslukh_ , pheasant, and a large chunk from one of the cheese wheels.

   Now, so entranced was Dwalin by his meal, it was a little while later that he even started to take in his surroundings, suddenly curious about the so-called burglar that Gandalf had found for them. As he looked, Dwalin began to think that, perhaps, there wasn't something quite normal going on here. Dwalin wouldn't admit to being a great thinker—no, that area was for dwarrow like Balin and his peers—but neither could he be called a simpleton. After all, Dwalin's job required he outsmart criminals on a regular basis as well as perform regular guard duties. So, when he looked around the Baggins' dining room and into the part of the hall he could see from his seat, Dwalin noticed something interesting.

   The house was built with rich wood paneling, filled with furniture and décor that seemed in line with the interior of the Green Dragon, where he had stopped for directions earlier. The lines were soft, rounded, and most everything was carved with vines, flowers, or trees. Everything except—well, every so often Dwalin's eyes met something that was clearly dwarvish in make: strong, durable steel and iron shaped in the geometric patterns Dwalin's life had been filled with, whether in furniture, architecture, or clothes. The china cabinet, the picture frames, a tapestry hung on the wall—now that he thought back, Dwalin realized Mistress Baggins and the girl that must have been her daughter had both been sporting Dwarven braids.

   Dwalin paused, looking contemplatively down at the piece of pheasant in his fingers. He'd been doubtful when the girl leading him here had introduced him to her mother—soft, fragile-looking thing she was. But perhaps . . . perhaps she, or some hitherto unseen husband of hers, was indeed a burglar.

   The house's doorbell went ringing off. Dwalin heard Mistress Baggins hurry to answer it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations:  
> 'Amad - Mother  
> Zann galikh - Good night  
> Kassub labamuslukh - cakes of white root (potato cake)
> 
> Edit: I changed the scene with Gandalf and Bella. I was always meaning to, but I had some trouble with editing when I went to post, so I entirely forgot. Sorry!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year is 1317 when Bella Baggins finds a half-drown dwarf in the Water. Little does she know that rescuing him is just the beginning.

**12 March 1317 (Shire Reckoning)**

   Bag End had become quite subdued in the past few years. Ever since the Fell Winter five years previously and the deaths it had brought (namely that of one Bungo Baggins, previous master of Bag End), the house had fallen into a soft, mourning silence. Bungo's widow, Belladonna Baggins, had lost her previous zest for life. No more did she venture on trips to Bree and beyond to satisfy her wanderlust. No more did she attend parties, unless she was cajoled into it by her daughter. The younger Belladonna, known by most simply as Bella, had watched in the past five years as the life and light in her mother's eyes faded and died. She knew Belladonna was waiting for the day she could be reunited with her dear husband. She wondered, some days, what held her mother back from simply giving up and dying, to let go and leave this world for the next. Others, Bella was grateful that her mother hadn't left her just yet. At twenty-seven, Bella wasn't considered quite old enough to be on her own yet and the days she was thankful for Belladonna's continued existence were the ones when she felt as though she was suffocating under the obligations she'd had to pick up as Belladonna had become less and less willing to do her duties as Bag End's mistress.

   Bella did her best to keep things running as they had when her father was alive. She made trips to market to keep their lard stocked full of enough food to feed the entire Took side of the family. She made sure their gardener, young Holman Greenhand, kept the garden Bungo had long ago planted in order. The roses he'd given Belladonna, taken with permission from the Thain's own gardens, Belladonna still had enough presence of mind to look after herself. She would spend hours outside and talk to them and enjoy their fragrance and Bella swore it was the only time in the past five years she'd ever seen her mother even close to happy.

   One particular mid-March Monday was what Bella would call a day that wasn't quite good or bad, just somewhere in between. Belladonna had gotten out of bed and eaten her meals without much convincing. She'd even managed to engage in the usually one-sided conversation that Bella filled awkward, painful silences with. But, between meals and whenever Bella couldn't find some imaginary something for her to do, Belladonna was firmly ensconced in Bungo's old armchair in the parlor, staring listlessly out the window. She stayed quietly in the chair and, after ignoring Bella's quiet suggestion that maybe she could join her on her visit to Pyrola Greenhand's, Bella gave up and decided to go about her business without worrying about her mother too much. She left Bag End, yelling a promise of Belladonna's favorite white button mushroom soup for dinner as she went.

   The weather seemed to mirror the elder Baggins's mood. The watery sunlight, which had been diminishing all day, was mostly blocked out now by thick rainclouds. The air was heavy with an oncoming storm, though it had yet to so much as drizzle and it was nearly teatime. Bella had a feeling that the storm would break some time in the night and she could only hope that the tentative peace in Bag End wouldn't snap with it.

   The Greenhands lived in Bywater, but it wasn't by any means a long walk and Bella enjoyed the fresh air. Winter was still hanging doggedly on, but the chill gave a refreshing crisp feel to the air that Bella felt was not unlike having a splash of water to the face after waking up. Walking down the lane, she felt renewed and remade and she could make herself forget, just for a while, what was waiting for her when she got back home. Instead, she thought of Pyrola, Holman's mother, who had recently fallen ill with a fever and cough that still wasn't getting any better after nearly a week spent in bed. She was bringing a basket by for her and the children, hoping to help out with any chores that needed doing. Holman was the family's oldest at twenty-three (the next in age being Morley Greenhand at a mere sixteen years of age and nowhere near old enough to care for the others) and it was quite a lot to ask of him to take care of his eight younger brothers and sisters while also continuing with his gardening duties at Bag End. Bella and one of the older girls from the Greenhand's neighborhood, Gale Wetwood, had been helping him around the house and with errands around town.

   The Greenhands were situated in a small smial close to the Water, with a well kept garden in the front and a veritable army of clotheslines on top of their hill. As Bella approached, she could see a number of faunts on the hill, running through the clothes swaying on the lines, giggling and shrieking as they went. Gale was just ahead of Bella in getting through the gate, lugging a bucket of water from the neighborhood well and muttering under her breath about unhelpful boys. Holman was in the kitchen, peering at a book that Morley was reading while trying also to make a suitable dinner. Bella lingered in the doorway, hoping to be noticed, but when she wasn't, she knocked on the already open door.

   Holman looked up with a tired smile. Bella returned the smile and held up the basket for him to see. He sighed heavily, looking quite relieved.

   “Oh, thank heavens. The others are contemplating a coup if I serve dry roast chicken one more time.” Gale snorted in the background. Holman shot his older cousin a sour look and relieved Bella of her basket. “Mum's sleepin' off a coughin' fit. Doc's comin' by later to have another look at her, but 'e says she's doin' better.” Despite the enthusiasm about the food, Holman was still hesitant as he lifted the basket's lid and peered inside.

   “Nothing will bite you,” Bella admonished. “It's chicken, smoked fish—I picked up your order of mutton and beef from the butcher—cheese, some bread, rolls, scones, cream, tea that I got for Aunt Camilla's birthday. She knows I hate that blend . . .” She trailed off to help Holman unpack the packages of meat she'd stuffed into the basket. Morley looked up from his book curiously.

   “What blend is that?” He asked, eyeing the tea caddy in a way that made Bella nervous.

   “Black with orange. I don't particularly like it, but others seem to.” Bella made an exaggerated sniff that made Morley and Gale giggle. Bella shared a grin with them.

   Holman brewed some tea and put out a plate of scones and a jar of jam and, once everyone was served and there were the beginnings of dinner cooking on the stove, he joined the girls and Morley at the table. Bella sipped at her tea. It was a warm, comforting chamomile that reminded her of cold winter nights spent cuddling with her parents on the loveseat or, if they let her, in bed. It was the perfect remedy for the gloom that the weather had brought. Bella cradled the mug in her hands and let the warmth seep into her bones.

   “ . . . sent word and he should be here sometime in the next few days.” Gale said, pulling Bella out of her wandering thoughts.

   “What're we talking about?” She asked absently as she dragged herself back to the conversation at hand. Gale held up a bent pot that she must have just pulled off the rack overhead.

   “There's a smith just come down from the Blue Mountains for work. 'eard from Firo Goodenough that 'e's comin' by the Old North Road 'n should be 'ere soon enough. I was sayin' to Holman that when 'e comes, we've got some business for 'im right off.” Bella raised an eyebrow, intrigued. The area's last smith had moved to the South Farthing ages back and they'd resorted to buying replacements as repairs were impossible without sending away to Frogmorton or, in cases that needed more work or better craftsmanship, Bree or Michel Delving. The families of Hobbiton had been talking about requesting a new smith from the Blacksmiths' Guild for years, but they'd never gotten around to writing a formal request. But a dwarf smith! Now that would get people talking.

   “Gracious, that will be quite exciting, won't it?” She said as she contemplated exactly what a dwarf blacksmith in the Shire would mean. Gale smirked widely, her mind on the same page as Bella's.

   “It'll give those batty old gossips up the Hill somethin' to talk about, that's for sure.” Gale snorted. “They haven't had anythin' to yap about since that Sam Digby ran off with that girl from Bree. Now they've got new fodder to keep themselves happy for a while. I mean, for Yavanna's sake, a dwarf workin' the smithy!” Gale giggled, more in disbelief than amusement.

   “But that's good!” Bella insisted. “I've been meaning to have so many things done around the house that need a smith's work. I was starting to think I'd have to send away to Frogmorton to replace those window latches that got broken in last month's storming. And the locks at Bag End need fixing; I can't count how many times the spigot out back has gotten stuck in the past years.” She was indeed rather happy about this latest development. If there was a new smith in town, she'd have quite a bit of business for him indeed. “And he's due in the next couple days?” Holman nodded.

   “Well, 'e _was_ due yesterday,” he said, “but 'e must've got held up somewhere 'cause 'e's not stayin' at the Green Dragon and no one's seen a dwarf 'round town yet. Last anyone 'eard of 'im, 'e was leavin' the inn at Nobottle, so 'e should be 'ere soon.” Gale shot him a suspicious look over her mug.

   “How would you know what's goin' on at the Green Dragon?” She demanded. “You're not supposed to be at the pub when there's work to be done and you've been workin' all week.” Holman blushed and tried changing the subject.

   “Never you mind,” he said sharpish. “I want to know what's been goin' on between you 'n that Took boy that came up for Yule. Don't think I 'aven't seen you two gettin' cozy at parties.” Gale, however, was not intimidated.

   “Big talk comin' from the boy who's been out to the pub every chance 'e can get, 'opin' to get a look at Dipelta Goold.” Gale timed her barb perfectly. Holman ended up inhaling the tea he'd been drinking. He coughed as his mouthful of tea dribbled down his front. Bella tittered into her mug.

   “ _Oi!_ ” Holman finally choked out. “How'd you find out about that?” Gale grinned wickedly.

   “Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies.” She sing-songed. Bella giggled louder.

   After Gale and Holman's little tussle over romantic partners, the conversation turned to other topics. Bella got interrogated about her plans for her vegetable garden this year. She and Holman ended up arguing over last year's Farmer's Fair, where Bella's tomatoes had been beaten out by Belba Bolger's by just two points. Holman, who'd watched Bella slave over the tomatoes all summer leading up to the fair, was sure the whole thing had been fixed seeing as Belba's husband, Rudigar, was good friends with the hobbits who had been doing the judging. Bella was much more willing to believe the best of her aunt and uncle and insisted that it hadn't been anyone's fault but her own that her tomatoes had failed and that she could always hope to do better this year. Gale put in her two cents' worth eventually, saying that the tomato contest wasn't worth attention when “you get some righ' big ones in the melon competition”. Holman choked on his tea again.

   It wasn't until the clock struck five that Bella realized she'd completely lost track of time. She'd only meant to stop by for about half an hour, but here she was, three hours later, debating the different kinds of compost with Holman and Gale. Gale was all for anything that smelled better than a pig sty, while Holman was adamant that the best food for growing plants came from a good mixed compost. Bella was leaning much more toward Holman's way of thinking when she decided that it really was getting late and that she needed to get going if she wanted to collect mushrooms from the wood before she got home for dinner. Pyrola, who had gotten out of bed nearly an hour previously to join them in the parlor, wished Bella a good evening, thanked her for the basket she'd brought, and told her to come back for tea sometime. Bella confirmed that she would, then took her leave.

   The sky had darkened considerably while Bella had been inside, but it still hadn't started to rain and there was still enough light to go hunting for mushrooms. The children had gone, off to some other garden or field or smial. The road was quiet but for the soft sound of Bella's feet on the earth as she made her meandering way toward the Water, her now-empty basket tucked under one arm.

   Bella followed the road to Hobbiton and, when it hit a fork and took one direction north, over the bridge and up to the Hill and the other northwest to Nobottle, Bella took the Old North Road as it followed the flow of the river. Once she'd reached the right spot, she turned and veered off the path, wading through the tall grass between the road and the trees lining the riverbank. It was in the trees and surrounding area that Bella knew she could find the mushrooms she was looking for.

   Sure enough, farther into the trees and hiding in the damp, darker nooks and crannies there, Bella found white button mushrooms sprouting in clumps. They were a good proper size for soup; the recent wet and rainy weather made for perfect growing conditions. Bella had plenty of mushrooms to harvest for dinner and then some.

   It was a good thing the mushrooms were so easy to find because, by the time Bella's basket was beginning to fill, the skies had opened and it was starting to rain. Bella had forgotten her umbrella at home, having planned to be back before the rain started, so she felt justified in her grumbling as she scrambled to pick more mushrooms before she got completely soaked. It was still just drizzling, but it was picking up speed and volume by the minute. She held her shawl over her head and moved to run for the road when something caught her eye. Bella missed it at first, then did a double take. What in the world? There it was! A patch of white, right there, down the muddy bank, near the water. Bella squinted at it as the rain started blurring her surroundings. She really should be getting home, she thought to herself. Belladonna was waiting and—oh, but it could be something interesting! Some sort of flower or plant, maybe a fish that had washed up or—was that hair? Bella shuffled closer to the top of the bank. Yes, that did look like hair. And quite a lot of it. Suddenly her mind was racing with an entirely new range of horrific possibilities. What if it was a person? Some faunt that had fallen into the river? They could be half dead or already gone. That was enough incentive to move for Bella. She put the basket of mushrooms down and quickly made her way toward the slope of the Water's bank. Even from the top she could now see it was a person. Someone lying on their side, half out of the water. Bella yelped and hurried quicker toward them.

   "Hello?” She called as she slid down toward the water. No answer, but she hadn't really expected one. “Hello? Are you all right?” Bella landed at the bottom of the hill. Her toes sank into the soft mud that the rains had made. Still, despite the noise she'd made slipping down the bank's wet grass, there wasn't any response from the person curled in front of her. Bella's stomach twisted in apprehension as she hesitantly approached them. She sent a small prayer to anyone listening that they weren't dead. She didn't want to find a dead body. Really, truly, Bella didn't.

   Bella finally came to them. Their back was turned toward her. Their clothes and hair were caked in mud and what looked sickeningly like blood. The white she'd seen earlier was deathly pale skin showing from underneath scraggily hair that had fallen away from their face and neck. It was then that Bella realized this wasn't some hobbit that had foolishly tried wading into the Water's deeper areas or slipped and fallen in. The whole body was too large to belong to a hobbit and the clothes weren't anything sold at a seamstress or tailor's in the Shire. Too thick, heavy, and travel worn, with strange patterns etched and embroidered on them. Sweet heavens, was this a small Man? Or a Dwarf? Goodness, Bella couldn't imagine what would get a dwarf in this state.

   “Please don't be dead,” she whimpered. She screwed up her courage and finally, cringing, Bella put a hand on the person's shoulder and slowly turned them over to face the sky.

   It was a dwarf and, from what little Bella knew of them, it seemed to be a man. His face and entire left side of his body was caked in mud. His thick, dark hair was matted and limp, in dire need of a thorough wash and brushing. Small sections had been shaved nearly to his scalp and were scabbed over from what must have been a hack job. There were bruises and scratches across his exposed skin and, Bella feared, more hidden under his clothes. He was deathly pale, lips starting to tinge a pale blue from the time he'd spent in the river's cold waters. But with her hand on his chest, Bella could feel him breathing shallowly, hitching occasionally. She thanked the Valar and cast around for some way to get him to the nearest smial for medical attention. She didn't dare leave him long enough to get help. Who knew what could happen to him if she left him alone long enough to run back to Bywater, get someone willing to brave the rain for a stranger, and come back to get him out of the river. Bella sighed heavily as it became increasingly clear she'd have to pull him at least up the bank, if not all the way to Bywater on her own.

   It took some doing. The dwarf was bigger than any hobbit man Bella had ever encountered, including some of the taller Bree folk, and his sturdy, muscled build meant he weighed much more than he appeared to at first glance. He was also laden down with a massive sword, knives, a couple of axes, and a heavy coat of plates under his traveling coat but over his tunic. Bella had to strip him of most of his clothes and weapons to get him even close to light enough to drag up the hill to flat ground. Any other time and Bella would have blushed seeing so much of a man, but this was no time for offended sensibilities. In any case, Bella was much too consumed by the arduous task of pulling someone weighing probably a good two or three times as much as she up an incline covered in wet grass to care. The steady drizzling turned to heavier rain and the winds picked up to blow Bella's wayward curls into her mouth. She spit them out, irritated and distracted. Bella got him almost halfway up the riverbank before it became clear that she simply wasn't strong enough to heft him the rest of the way. She dithered over his prone form for a little while, trying to figure out some way of getting him out of the rain. Eventually, Bella gave it up as a lost cause and ran to get help.

   The closest hut along the river was owned by the Bankses. Bella didn't know them well, except that the husband was the butcher and that he and his wife hadn't had any children. Mr. Banks and his apprentice, Daucus, were in the barn outside their house, looking at their pigs for slaughter, and they came when Bella stumbled into the barn, sent by Mrs. Banks, looking for help. Together, they managed to carry the dwarf and his things all the way to the Green Dragon, where Mrs. Banks was already waiting, with the healer she'd called for. Not many of the inn's regulars to the pub were willing to brave the weather, so the Green Dragon was mercifully empty of most people as Dipelta Goold herded their group down the hall to the room she'd prepared for them.

   “Now, you all get out,” the healer, Violet Fowley, said sharply before snapping the door shut in the group's faces.

   Dipelta got everyone drinks, stoked the fire, and ran errands when Violet called for more supplies from her home in Bywater. When she came back, she strung a rope in front of the fire and hung the dwarf's clothes to dry. Meanwhile, Bella sat, useless, at the fireside, clutching her tea and trying to keep memories of wolves and wargs and a winter gone too long at bay. Staring into the flames leaping in the grate, it was harder than it should have been. Bella couldn't stop thinking about the dwarf. He'd been so pale; who knew how long he'd been in the water and what injuries his heavy clothes had been hiding. Bella ran a hand through her hair. What a day this had turned out to be.

***

   Warm. It was so warm. Warm and soft and—oh, that hurt. Something hurt. Ribs, hands, back, face. Everything hurt. Stabbing, aching, throbbing hurt. Why did it hurt? Where—where was he? He wasn't sure. All he was sure of, was that he hurt. Someone was humming. It was soft, soothing, and the tune seemed determined to send him back to sleep. And send him to sleep it did. He drifted off into the warm darkness again.

   In the dark, there wasn't much. He drifted serenely through the nothingness, weightless, at ease. Dreams meandered past, watery, broken, and incoherent. Vague sensations came and went. Fingers through his hair, warmth, then cold, the crackling of a fire, words that held no meaning, washing over him in a lulling cadence that usually sent him deeper into sleep. Sometimes the humming came back. Others, it was rough voices and rough hands and he turned away then, diving deeper into the nothingness.

   The second time he woke, the humming was back. It was another lullaby, he thought, but it wasn't familiar. He wondered, vaguely, who was singing. Maybe if he could crawl out of the dark, he could see who it was. Maybe . . . The third time he woke, he was finally able to open his eyes. They felt like they had anvils on them. Opening them just enough to see a sliver of the room he was in was an uphill battle. There was nothing more he wanted to than sink into the dark waters lapping at the edge of his mind. He persevered, however, and finally managed to open his eyes to a well-lit room paneled with dark wood. The sound of rain pattering on the window came from one side, but when he tried to turn to face it, every muscle in his body screamed in protest. He groaned, head lolling back into the cloud of his pillow.

   “ . . . for a while.” The door he could see out of the corner of his eye swung open. A head of dark honey curls appeared there, but the woman was facing away from him and talking to someone outside. “I'm almost finished with chapter four. And I'll check his bandages while I'm—oh!” The lass turned and startled when she saw he was awake, dropping the book and basket of knitting she was holding. “Oh! Dipelta, he's awake! Go get Violet.” And then she was gathering up her things and hurrying into the room in a rustle of skirts. The book and knitting were deposited in an armchair next to what he assumed was the fireplace (it was the general direction the light in the room was coming from anyway) and then she approached him slowly. “You're awake, that's good.” He opened his mouth to answer, ask why it was good and where was he and who was she and—but all that came of it was a weak croak and an intense dryness in his throat. The young woman sighed and fetched a jug from the nightstand. “Here,” she poured water into a glass and held it up to his mouth. “Just take little sips. It'll help your throat.”

   The water was cool and refreshing. It soothed the ache in his throat and when he tried again to speak, his voice finally made its appearance.

   “Where am I? What—” he coughed and was helped to another mouthful of water. “What happened?” The woman sighed again, putting the glass down on the nightstand.

   “You're at the Green Dragon, in Hobbiton. I found you in the river almost two weeks ago.” She pushed at the curls falling into her face. “As for the second question, we were rather hoping you'd be able to tell us what happened. It's not every day a dwarf gets washed up in the Water, after all.” He frowned.

   “I—” But he couldn't answer the question. He didn't know how he'd ended up in—well, apparently it had been a river, but . . . He couldn't remember. It struck like a punch in the gut. He couldn't remember how he got in the river, nor what he'd been doing at any time before he first woke to the humming. “I can't remember. There's—I can't remember anything.” He didn't. There was nothing. Nothing but the knowledge that he was a dwarf and that the lass leaning over him, looking rather concerned, was most definitely _not_ a dwarrowdam. She was a tiny thing with a fresh face and bright eyes and he was being generous if he guessed she was of age. She was altogether too slight, too soft to be a dwarf, with no beard to speak of on top of it all. He knew, too, that he wasn't in a Dwarf settlement. The room was made the wrong way. But how he knew that, he couldn't say. He couldn't—Mahal damn it all, he couldn't remember his own name.

   “You don't remember what happened?” The lass's frown deepened. “That's fine. We don't need to know, we just thought that—”

   “No,” he said firmly, cutting her off. She looked down at him, looking as though she were going to scold his bad manners, but he continued before she could reprimand him. “I cannot remember anything before waking in this bed.” She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the door flew open and another, stouter, graying woman burst into the room.

   In not much time at all, the whole story came out. The lass he'd first seen was Belladonna Baggins (the others called her Bella); the woman was Violet Fowley, a healer. A fortnight ago, Bella had found him half-drown and beaten to within an inch of his life on the banks of the river. He'd been brought to the nearby town's inn, the Green Dragon, to heal. They'd been hoping that, when he awoke, he'd be able to tell them just exactly who he was and what had happened to cause him to end up in the Water. Unfortunately for all parties involved, due to the injuries he'd suffered, namely a blow to the head that had had Violet worried he would never wake, his memories were gone. All any one knew was that he was, most likely, the dwarf smith that had last been seen leaving Nobottle, whose name no one had known.

   “That leaves us in a bit of a pickle.” Mrs. Fowley said evenly after she'd managed to get the story straight. He was trying not to worry, she'd said there was a possibility that his memories would return, but it was hard not to at the very idea that he would likely never know his life before now again. “Seeing as how no one knows who you are. We'll do our best to send word to the Blue Mountains, asking after you, but post only goes that way when the rangers come through 'n I can't say for sure they'll be through the West Farthing any time soon.”

   It was finally decided that, while he healed and while they waited for a ranger to become available to make a trip to the Blue Mountains, he could do his best to rest and not strain himself to remember. His braids, to his dismay, had been cut clean off by whoever had attacked him. Even if he didn't know his name, they would have told him _something_ about himself, but they were gone and he was left with no clues and the shame of having had his braids cut. Mrs. Fowley was insistent that these things took time; months, sometimes years passed before memories returned, if they ever surfaced at all. She told him to be patient, not to get his hopes up too much, and to take things one day at a time. So he did.

   He had several broken ribs, a concussion, broken fingers, a couple loose teeth, a long scraped section along his arm and another on his back where the skin had been sliced off entirely, and bruises galore. He was also suffering the effects of spending who knew how long in the cold river and mud. The first few days after he woke, he was so weak from his time spent sleeping, the pain of his injuries, and from the concoctions Mrs. Fowley shoved down his throat that he could barely manage to sit upright in bed, even with someone there to help him up. And there was usually someone there. Dipelta was busy taking care of customers, and Mrs. Fowley only came to see him once or twice a day, but they made sure to check on him regularly or else send someone to do it for them.

   The fourth day after he woke, after Mrs. Fowley deemed him well enough to not require constant attention, he was left on his own to “get used to things”. There wasn't much fun in that. A long line of bottles were left on his nightstand. A list of instructions on how and when the contents were to be used was left for Dipelta to help him with. He spent the morning drifting between the waking world and the thick muddiness of sleep due to the draughts Mrs. Fowley had concocted to help with the pain. When he slept, he had vague dreams that left him with a no memories, but a sense of panic, fear, and grief. When he was awake, he stared listlessly at the ceiling, the walls, the rug in front of the fireplace, which at times moved seemingly of their own will, tilting and warping and making him altogether much too dizzy. He'd tried getting out of bed earlier, when Dipelta was in with second breakfast (and wasn't that a shock; he'd been beyond surprised when he'd been told to expect seven meals a day) and had immediately fallen face first on the floor, prompting Dipelta to suggest that perhaps he wait a little while before trying to walk again. So, he was stuck, restless and bored in bed with nothing to do and no one to talk to. He was on the verge of taking his third nap before lunch when there came a soft knock at the door.

   “Come in,” he said, though he was wondering who it was that had come to see him. Mrs. Fowley didn't knock when she came, just barged in like she owned the place, and Dipelta knocked and didn't wait for an answer before coming in. The door opened slowly. It was Bella. She poked her head in through the small gap she'd opened and gave him a hesitant smile. He hadn't seen her since she left the day he awoke, sputtering something about being needed at home and a vague wish for him to heal as best he could. He'd thought he wouldn't see his rescuer again. It was a pleasant surprise to be wrong.

   “Hello,” Bella said softly. He dipped his head in her direction. “I, er, I just was—that is, I've been—I mean, it's just that I was wondering how you were doing.” Her cheeks flushed soft pink, but she kept his gaze otherwise unaffected. He gave her a small smile.

   “I am well enough.” He answered. “Though, I am half-mad for want of something to do. I must admit, there is nothing quite as disturbing as studying this room under the effect of Mrs. Fowley's draughts and I would much appreciate a distraction.” Bella's shy smile grew and she stepped into the room the rest of the way, shutting the door almost entirely behind her.

   Her hair was damp and her clothes bore signs of having gone through the gentle rain that had been tapping on the windows since before he woke that morning. She had a large basket in one hand, a tray he recognized from second breakfast under that arm, and a handful of dripping, somewhat bedraggled wildflowers in the other hand. Bella gave her hair an absent run-through with the hand holding the flowers as she came farther into the room, dropping the basket and tray onto the floor by the fireplace and then coming to the bedside table.

   “I've always thought that flowers could do a world of good to help brighten up a room.” She explained as she poured some water into an unused mug on the table and then deposited the flowers into it. “From what I've heard, you can't remember anything of your life before,” Bella raised a questioning brow; he gave an affirmative nod, “but I'd like to think that, despite all I've heard dwarves are a rough race, you'd be able to appreciate something different to look at once in a while. Even if it is flowers.” He gave her an encouraging mumble, but couldn't make himself answer before she spun and returned to the basket she'd left. “I, er, I brought some food. Soup and bread, nothing too heavy or hard to chew. Violet says you've got a little ways to go before you're ready for any great feasts.” He was sure he didn't imagine the little smirk she had when she said this. “If you're hungry, that is!” Suddenly Bella was looking up at him with wide eyes, halfway through the motion of pulling a large pot of soup out of her basket. “I don't mean to assume, I just thought you might be hungry and Dipelta said you'd slept right through elevensies today and—”

   “Quite fine,” he reassured her. He tried to wave away her concern but ended up clutching his arm back to his side when his ribs and back protested the movement. “It's quite fine.” He repeated breathlessly as Bella returned to her preparations.

   With some difficulty, and glaring away his attempts to get out of bed and assist her, Bella dragged the room's small high table over from the corner where it sat, bringing the stool tucked under it along as well. Then she got out the bowls and silverware she'd brought for the two of them to eat lunch. She served up the soup, giving him a much larger helping than she gave herself, and carefully cut the hard crust from the bread she'd brought before helping him to sit up and then settling the tray over his lap. Once she was sure he could lift the spoon to his mouth without hurting himself (and that was a feat worthy of the record books, he was sure), Bella tucked into the meal with enthusiasm.

   The soup was delicious. Thick chunks of red potatoes and white mushrooms swam in a creamy, buttery broth seasoned with pepper, chives, garlic, and onions. He took to dipping his bread in it and sucking on the resulting mush until it dissolved in his mouth, remembering clearly Mrs. Fowley's harsh warning about him needing to give his teeth a chance to tighten. Bella watched him push his bread around the bowl with a grin that disappeared when he caught her staring.

   Despite the good food, the whole affair was awkward and quiet. Neither of them seemed to know quite what to say to one another. Every time he thought that perhaps he could start a conversation (maybe ask after her health like she'd done earlier for him, or inquire after what she'd interrupted to come visit) he either wasn't sure how to get started or he saw how stiff Bella looked in her seat and thought better of it. He wasn't sure, after all, that anything he thought to say would help break the tension between them. He knew she wasn't comfortable with him. He wasn't a simpleton. As if his own uneasiness wasn't bad enough, Bella didn't appear to have the courage to ask any of the questions he could see on the tip of her tongue. Every time she seemed about to speak up, she'd take one painful look at him and give her attention back to her soup. Silence stretched like a great yawning chasm between them. He wasn't sure what one was supposed to say in situations like this. Honestly, all the ideas swimming through his mind involved headbutts, raucous singing, and the copious consumption of ale. He heavily doubted Bella would approve of any of those things, especially given the state he was in at the moment. So, he stayed silent but for the thanks he gave her for the food and for her helpful gathering of their things when they were done eating. He wondered if all dwarrow were this horrible at interacting with others or if it was just him.

   He was sure that, once they were finished with the meal, Bella would pack up and leave, most likely never to return. Oh, well, that was sounded a bit dramatic, but he didn't suppose she had any other reason for visiting than to check up on him and make sure her efforts to save him hadn't been in vain. Now that she saw he was starting to mend, she likely would rather get news of his recovery from the others than spend too much time in the presence of an intimidating dwarf who was completely unable to initiate conversation. But, instead of leaving with her things, Bella hovered awkwardly at the hearth, digging a fingernail into the carvings etched in the wood there. She opened her mouth, closed it after a moment, and then opened it again. She seemed to steel herself and looked over to him with determination.

   “I've got a book.” She said shortly. He raised an eyebrow and she huffed. “I mean, I brought a book, along with everything else.” Bella moved away from the fireplace toward the cushy armchair that was settled in front of it. She spoke to it, seeming to push the words out before she lost her nerve. “I was reading it to you, while you were sleeping. Violet said talking could help, and I'd been meaning to get started on it—legends of the First Age, you see, and that sort of thing has always interested me—and I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone and, well, I guess I thought maybe I could sit and read to you like I did before, if you'd like.” And just like that, the wind left her sails and her shoulders slumped. She didn't meet his gaze as she waited apprehensively for what she must have thought would be a vehement “no”.

   The beaming smile on her face when he said he would appreciate her extended presence was well worth it, though he drifted off to sleep before Bella had managed to read him so much as a paragraph from her book.

***

   After that, Bella came every day, usually for lunch or right after. She brought books, food, flowers for the nightstand, and stories of the outside world. The flowers, he thought, were unnecessary, but it was such a relief to see something different in his room that he didn't say anything about it. He was sure he would have gone mad before the week in bed was out without the combined visits from Bella and Dipelta.

   “'Never one to turn away an ally, they took up the call to arms. And, so, with his armies behind him, King Denethor marched to the aid of Elf King Thingol.'” Today, Bella was reading from a thick tome that told tales of the First Age—legends of the first peoples of Middle Earth and their battles against the Dark Lord Morgoth and his servants. It was the very same book she'd read to him on her first visit. Bella was insistent that they finish it before the next month was out. “'They met the orcs at Amon Ereb in battle. During the fight, King Denethor fell, slain by the orcs, but eventually the hoards were defeated and driven off. Lone survivors fled to Mount Dolmed where they were slain by the dwarves settled . . . there.'” Bella trailed off and fell silent. Her eyes were unfocused as she stared down at the book in her lap.

   “Miss Baggins?” He asked tentatively. She didn't answer. Instead she sprang to her feet so fast the book slipped onto the floor with a loud thud.

   “I've just remembered something I need to fetch. I'll be back shortly.” Bella said in explanation before grabbing her shawl off the hook on the back of the door and disappearing. He was left staring blankly at the shut door, wondering what had just happened.

   Bella returned almost an hour later, cheeks red, eyes bright, and slightly out of breath from what must have been a vigorous run back to the Green Dragon. In her arms was a worn book, neither the size of the tome on the floor, nor one of the diminutive novels Bella had read entirely to him in the space of one day. The etchings on it were faded, the gold leaf that had once spelled out a title in old runes was flaked away and illegible. Bella looked down at it with reverence, then approached the bed and handed it out for him to take. He did so, wondering what she'd brought him this time.

   “I got it a few years back, when Mother and I went to Tuckborough.” Bella said as he opened the book. Its binding cracked audibly, protesting the movement. The title page had, at some point, been ripped down the middle, but the runes still visible on what was left—he knew them at once. Khuzdul. He ran a finger over the aged parchment. “It was in terrible shape, and no one could read it in any case, so the owner gave it to me for free.” Bella continued on. He only half heard her. He was too interested in carefully turning the pages to see what exactly the book contained. “I just remembered I had it. I couldn't read it, so I sort of squirreled it away. I thought . . . maybe you'd like it. Of course, I'm not really sure what it is exact—”

   “Stories,” he cut her off. “Legends and children's tales.” Now he was sure he wouldn't ruin the brittle pages, he turned them with more enthusiasm. “Stories, legends that are half remembered histories . . .” he couldn't help the smile that came as he read a few sentences from a tale of a foolish smith in Khazad-dûm who had to challenge a great thinker to a battle of wits for his One's hand in marriage.

   “That'll be nice to read, won't it?” Bella was smiling widely, still panting quietly from her run. Her hair had come loose from the braid she had it in today and she pushed curls out of her eyes as she took her seat on her usual armchair. “Something to keep you occupied when there's nothing else to do.” He grunted softly, not paying attention at all anymore, too absorbed by what he was reading to bother with conversation.

   It was dark out when he surfaced from the book, dragging himself away to reality once again. The fire had been lit to combat the shadows that were flickering in the corners of the room. He couldn't see out the window. Bella was curled up in her armchair, head lolling to one side as she slept. An embroidery hoop rested on her lap, needle held loosely by a limp hand. He smiled at the sight. It was nice to be the one awake while the other slept for a change. He'd lost count after the first few visits how many times he'd fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation with Bella or Dipelta or any of his other rare visitors.

   He let himself sink into his bed and his mind went pleasantly blank, the only thing making an impression on him being the sound of Bella's soft breathing and the crackling of the fire in the grate. It was nice, he thought, to be in a warm bed and to have warm food every day. It had been so long . . . the thought slipped away like sand through his fingers. It had been long, that much he knew, but how long or why it had been so long escaped him. He sighed heavily and fell silent again.

   Some time later there came a soft knock at the door. He didn't answer, but it opened anyway. Dipelta's disembodied head appeared. She took one look at Bella asleep in the chair and him, halfway to dozing off, and gave a smile. The door opened wider and Dipelta crept into the room with a tray of rags, gauze, and a bowl of water on it. She was careful to shut the door so as to not wake Bella.

   “Time to change your bandages,” she whispered as she approached the bed. He must have made a face because Dipelta's smile grew. “I know, not pleasant, but I think we'd both rather have to change bandages than cut off a body part.” He chuckled, but when the laugh strained his ribs he did his best to stay quiet and still. Dipelta was firm and professional. She stripped him of his shirt and pants and then removed his bandages without so much as a blush or wince the whole time. He winced, though, quite a bit. Once his bandages were off, Dipelta washed him down with a warm rag, scraping off dried poultices and blood that had come from the wounds that weren't scabbing yet. It was a painful process. After he groaned for a third time, Dipelta disappeared and returned with a bottle of strong ale, which she made him drink most of before continuing.

   “When you're up to movin' a bit more, we'll get you into a tub 'n wash your hair.” She said as she dabbed at the large swathe of skin that had been taken off his back. “But, if you want, I can find a brush 'n have it out with these tangles. See if I can't get it at least presentable.” Something tugged in his gut, harsh and panicking. He jerked violently away from Dipelta's touch. “Watch it!” She yelped. But he was too busy trying to impress upon her the gravity of the situation to worry.

   “No!” He tried not to shout (Bella was still curled up in the chair), but didn't quite manage it. “No, ma'am, no, I do not need any assistance with my hair.” Dipelta looked more than a little concerned. “I am sorry, but I think—no, I remember very little, but I remember that hair is not something to be handled by anyone but family.” Dipelta was instantly apologetic.

   “Oh, no, sir, _I'm_ sorry! I had no idea.” She carried on cleaning his wounds, but was doing so even more gingerly than before. “I suppose we two peoples have quite a few differences.” Dipelta said after a moment of silence. “Hobbits don't give much care to their hair, aside to make sure it looks presentable. Only hobbit women braid their hair—men keep theirs short 'n out o' the way. My hair's so curly, I can barely manage to tie it back in the first place. Takes an age to get it sorted in the mornin'.” He looked back over his shoulder at her. Today, she had her hair was held back by a simple scarf.

   “We use braids to indicate marital and societal status as well as our profession and whether we are apprentice or master in that area. They tell how many siblings, if any, we have, and where we are in line of succession.” Dipelta hummed, sounding interested.

   “You don't have any. Oh, sorry!” Bella had spoken up unexpectedly from her chair, startling Dipelta into spilling her bowl of water onto the floor. “Oh, Dipelta, I'm so sorry!” Bella scrambled from her chair, grabbing a towel at the vanity on her way, and started to help Dipelta clean the puddle on the floor. “Goodness, I didn't mean to frighten you.” She said as she knelt on the floor and mopped up the water.

   “No need to apologize,” Dipelta was still a bit breathless from her fright. “I thought you were still sleepin'.”

   “I was,” Bella yawned as if to emphasize her point. “Excuse me! But I woke to voices and thought I might join your conversation.”

   The mess was quickly cleaned up. Bella settled back into her chair with her embroidery and Dipelta set back to work, now slowly working salve onto his wounds and then winding new bandages over them. The salves stung harshly at times, or else spread soothing relief down into his muscles, but either way he still wished it would be over sooner rather than later. After a time, Bella packed away her stitching and, as Dipelta tied off the last of the bandages, she got to her feet, stretched, and started bidding them goodnight.

   “No,” she said when Dipelta asked if she wasn't sure she'd like to stay longer, “I really must get going. I've promised Mother a supper together tonight and I'll have to hurry to get home in time for our meal.” She let out a loud yawn, barely covered by the hand she put to her mouth. “Goodness!” Bella was almost out the door when she skidded to a stop and spun to face him. “I almost forgot. Did you enjoy your book?” He had, in truth, forgotten the book himself. It lay now on the bedside table; he must have put it there at some point but couldn't remember when. Still, he nodded and gave Bella his best smile.

   “Yes, ma'am, I enjoyed it quite a lot.” Bella looked relieved.

   “Excellent.” And then she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm going to be alternating past and present with the chapters and I'll be trying (emphasis on "trying") to update this every Monday/Tuesday. I'm currently unemployed, so chapters will probably be regular, but things might change once I get a job. I'll let you guys know! Thanks for all the kudos and comments! You're all so sweet.


	3. Chapter 3

**27 April 1341 (Shire Reckoning)**

   Bella made a mad dash for market after reading Bofur's letter. Residents of Hobbiton would surely be talking for days about Mrs. Baggins' unsettled, slightly frenzied air as she rushed from shop to shop, purchasing enough food for a Took family gathering. Bella would put up with the gossip; she wasn't about to let a company of dwarrow eat her and her family out of smial and home when she had the means to purchase extra food for them.

   Birla realized something was up when she saw her mother dash hurriedly out of Bag End with a sour look on her face. Aster didn't see anything. He was too busy swinging from the branches of their cherry tree, making pink petals rain down on himself. Birla was closer to the edge of the Hill and watched with concern as Bella's form grew smaller and then disappeared around the bend toward town. What was that about? Her mother rarely got truly upset about things, but she'd looked quite flustered as she practically ran from the smial. When Bella returned home after elevensies, a shop hand trailing along behind her, both of them carrying several large parcels, Birla left Aster on top of the Hill to see if there was anything she could help with.

   She came into Bag End and was greeted with the scene of Bella giving the shop hand a few coins for his trouble and sending him on his way with a warm smile. He passed Birla on her way in and tipped his hat in her direction.

   “ _'Amad_ , what's happening? What's all this?” She asked as Bella started to take the parcels and move them farther into the smial.

   “We're having guests, Birla.” Bella sounded more than a little flustered. Birla looked for a parcel she could lift and started helping to bring the groceries to the kitchen. “I ran into an old friend today. He'll be coming by tonight for a late supper along with a company of dwarrow and your Uncles Bofur and Bifur.” Birla perked up at this news. She was always so happy to hear when her Dwarf uncles came to visit.

   “ _Lâsh!_ ” She squealed, grinning from ear to ear. “When will they come? Did you say 'late supper'? Can we stay up to see them? Please, _'amad_?” Bella shook her head.

   “You'll _not_ be staying up any later than normal. They'll be staying the night so you and the others can simply meet them at breakfast tomorrow, understand?” She said firmly. Birla pulled a face, but Bella was busy fetching another parcel and didn't see.

   “Yes, Momma.” Birla answered, allowing herself to sulk just a little. “Are we still baking today?” Bella sighed heavily and awkwardly nudged Tort out of the way as she moved through the parlor.

   “Oh, we'll be doing quite a lot of baking, I can guarantee.” She looked up from where she was placing her parcel on the ever growing mountain of packages in the kitchen. “You want to help, _magrith_?” Birla considered for a moment.

   “Can I help with the bread?” Bella smiled, though it didn't quite erase the air of worry about her.

   They labored over the bread right through luncheon. Aster popped in around noon, only long enough to say he was going to go play with the Guliston children down the lane; he didn't stay for lunch and didn't take note of the massive amounts of food Bella and Birla were preparing.

   Once the bread was either baking or waiting patiently for its turn in the oven, Birla bid her mother a good afternoon and left. Bella started on the things that would take the longest to make. Soon the beginnings of three soups and a hearty stew were taking up most of the stove. There was chicken cider roast, two whole chickens, and the biggest pot roast she could get her hands on, dressed and waiting for the bread to finish to start cooking. Bella then began on the pheasant she'd gotten earlier. She was up to her elbows in entrails when the doorbell rang loud and clear.

   “Just a moment!” She quickly washed her hands and rushed to answer the door, drying her fingers on her apron. Bella couldn't imagine the dwarrow were here already! Surely they'd be coming with Gandalf for supper?

   The door opened to reveal two very familiar faces and one she'd never seen, but, given his company, one she'd heard much about. Bofur and Bifur stood on her step with another dwarf, large enough around that Bella worried he'd be able to fit at the table and with such bright red hair he could only be one person: Bofur's younger brother, Bombur. Bella's worries were instantly swept away. The cousins from the Blue Mountains were always a welcome, happy addition to Bag End.

   “Oh, goodness! How wonderful to see you all!” Bella lurched forward and Bofur caught her up in a hug, pulling back to press their foreheads together in a gentler version of the dwarrow's common greeting. “I thought you weren't due until much later tonight.” Bella turned now to Bifur to say hello, staying ever mindful of the axe in his head.

   “Nah,” said Bofur easily, “thought we'd get here before everyone else an' help ye get ready.” Bella smiled, relieved for the offer of help. “Oh, an', ye finally get t' meet my brother.” Bofur gestured to the red haired dwarf, confirming Bella's suspicions. “Bella, this is my brother, Bombur. Bombur, this is Missus Bella.” Bella gave Bombur a curtsey, then firmly grasped the arm Bombur offered.

   “How nice to meet you. Though, Bofur's told me so much about you, I feel I've known you for years!” Bombur's cheeks pinked and Bella smiled wider. She ushered them inside. “If you'll just leave your boots and weapons by the door—Bofur, you remember where they go?” Bofur made an affirmative noise as he and his kin tromped into Bag End.

   “I was worried ye'd no' get my letter 'til it was too late, but yer expectin' us, right?” Bofur asked. He looked up from his boots to see Bella nodding.

   “Yes, yes, I got your letter just this morning. I was quite—goodness, a bit more warning would have been nice.” She chided. Bofur gaped for a moment before Bombur pulled his shoe off so hard it flew into Bofur's head and knocked his hat off.

   “Gandalf said a burglar would be willin' to come. Yer the burglar, aren't ye? Ye did agree, didn't ye?” Bofur retrieved his hat. Bella planted her hands on her hips and did her best to look reproving.

   “No, I most certainly _did not_. He asked just this morning!” She tried not to raise her voice, but didn't quite manage. “There I am, working on my mending out front, and along comes a Man I haven't seen in ages. Does he introduce himself? Oh, _no_. Just babbles on about adventures and—even when I tell him I'll not have anything to do with an adventure—says it'll be good for me.” Bella paused to push against the tension building between her eyes. “He said he'd 'tell the others' who, I assume, are you and your party. Then he walked off. I'm making supper for you all, but I'd really like to know what's going on.” Bella's tone was firm, but she was quite unsure underneath. Gandalf had somehow gotten her mixed up in this business and she wanted to know what exactly her guests were expecting of her.

   Bofur looked uncomfortable, though not half as much as Bombur did, despite not knowing Bella very well. Bifur seemed to have not heard the conversation at all and had moved farther into Bag End, humming to himself.

   “He just asked ye today?” He asked, askance. Bella nodded. “You read the letter, lass—he said he'd found a burglar, willin' and able t' come. That was nigh on two months ago.” Bella scowled at this news. She put a hand to her head and stood there for a moment, gathering her tangled thoughts. Then she motioned toward the parlor and the kitchen beyond.

   “I've been cooking to finish before the rest of your party arrives. Come sit and we can sort this out while I get the food ready.” They shuffled into the kitchen. Bombur made an appreciative noise at the sight and smell of the food cooking.

   Bella set about fetching her guests drinks. Bofur and Bombur took the tea she offered, along with a plate of scones, and settled at the end of the kitchen table that wasn't covered in the entrails of Bella's pheasant. Bifur muttered about dandelion wine and went off into the wine cellar to search for it. Bella could hear him humming gruffly as he went. One last look at her guests, and she was back to dressing the pheasant.

   “Well,” Bofur said after a few minutes' silence. “This has turned out quite a mess.” Bella snorted. “Honestly, Bella, we were told to expect a fully capable burglar, willin' to come along on a venture to Erebor.” Bofur spoke reluctantly, obviously not wanting to cause further upset. She glared down at the bird in her hands and ripped free the pheasant's lungs with a bit more force than necessary. “I can understand talkin' up a friend fer business, but this is a bit much.” He paused and turned innocently to Bella. “Ye've never burgled, have ye?” Bella fixed him with a withering look. Bofur just chuckled and drank his tea. “Sounds t' me like Gandalf's got somethin' up 'is sleeve.”

   “Oh, if half the stories I've heard of him are true, he's got much too much up his sleeve.” She put the last of the innards in a bowl and set it on the floor for Beren to eat when she returned with the children. Bella crossed to the sink to wash her hands again. “My mother—no, _she_ was the one to go swanning off with him. I've a family here to take care of and no husband to mind them while I'm gone. I can't think _what_ Gandalf's expecting to happen. And he said he had news for me. I can't imagine he'd have anything to say except an apology after all this.” The atmosphere changed. Something heavy settled in the air and sank into Bella's skin in thick foreboding. She slowly rinsed and dried her hands, wary of the sudden apprehension that had settled in her. When she finally had plucked her chosen herbs from the bundles hung over the window, Bella turned back to face the others. Bofur was fiddling with his tea awkwardly, eyes fixed on the rim of his cup. She almost didn't want to ask. “Bofur?” Almost. “Bofur, is there something else?”

   Bofur and Bombur exchanged a loaded glance. Bombur's ears turned pink, which Bella wondered was due to discomfort or stress. Either way, he shrugged at Bofur, grabbed two scones at once, and shoved them in his mouth as if to have a reason not to answer. Bofur scoffed and shifted in his seat.

   “Er, Bella, I think I know what Gandalf needed to speak to you about.” Bofur was oddly subdued as he spoke to his tea. Bella was silent, waiting for him to continue, but Bofur seemed content to end it there, despite significant looks from his brother.

   “Oh, what is it?” Bella prompted when it became obvious that Bofur would not go on. “Bofur, what news?”

   “We've found 'im.” He said it like a death sentence. Bella dropped the herbs she'd gathered. They fell to the floor with a soft, brittle noise. She knew who he spoke of. Only one person, one man could bring that sort of somberness to her cheery friend's spirit. Bella sat heavily on the closest bit of the kitchen bench and stared at nothing.

   “Where is he?” She asked tonelessly. “Where's my husband?” She looked sharply to Bofur when he didn't answer right away. He was watching her like one watched a dangerous animal.

   “He's on his way, Bella.” Bofur winced, but Bella just barely saw before turning away. “Look I didn't want to put in the letter 'cause what way is that to find out? No, I _had_ t' tell ye in person. But we met him a little before leavin' Ered Luin with the company. In fact, Kagin's the leader of our company. Kagin is King Thorin.”

   Bella shook her head, hoping that would help clear it. This didn't make any sense. Twelve and a half years gone, no sign or any indication to hint at what might have happened, and now Bofur was saying they'd found him? Just like that? And on the same day Gandalf appeared, having an adventure in mind for her—an adventure Bofur claimed this King Thorin (her Kagin, and wasn't that a shock) had launched in the first place. She put her head in her hands. This was no coincidence. It had Gandalf's meddling name all over it. Gandalf! This must be the news he'd had for her! Bella sprang to her feet. Her body was tense with wound nerves and she didn't know what to do with herself but pace around the kitchen. Kagin a king? Was that—Bella's stomach lurched. Was that why he hadn't come back? Had he remembered his old life and decided there was no room for Bella and their children in the life of a king? Or had he already had a wife and children, a queen and royal heirs that Bella had unwittingly stolen him from? The thought made her sick, left her whole body shaking like a leaf. The whispers and rumors of Kagin running off to escape life with Bella—rumors she'd ignored for years—loomed in her mind. All the talk of unnaturalness and impropriety . . . had Kagin truly remembered his old life and simply run from his unconventional hobbit wife? She was going to be sick or faint, she hadn't decided yet.

   “ _How_ —what—when did this happen?” She finally was able to say, though she still wasn't sure she wanted an answer. “Bofur, what on this green earth is going on? How did this happen? Did he—did he say what happened?” Bofur shook his head.

   “I don' think he remembers,” he said. Bella sat down again, only to spring to her feet a moment later. Bombur was eating his way through her scones, probably hoping a constantly full mouth would exclude him from this conversation.

   “ _What?_ ” Bella couldn't get her thoughts to straighten out. Nothing was making sense.

   “When we met 'im—an' wasn' that a shock fer me an' Bifur—he didn't seem to recognize us at all. Nothin'. I did some askin'. Wondered if he'd ever been to the Shire, that sort of thing, but he said no an' seemed sure of it. And, well, it does fit.” Bella looked up. Bofur seemed to have calmed, but he still wasn't his usual bubbly self. “Twenty-four years ago, Thorin disappeared while he was on the road as a traveling smith. An assassination attempt, you see. They brought his braids an' his signet ring as proof an' there wasn't ever a body found. Then, one day, out o' the blue, word comes down t' our neck o' the woods that he's back!” He laughed, but it held no humor. Bombur nodded along. It seemed he was entirely happy to spend this conversation viewing from the peanut gallery. “He's back an' is mum on where he's been. Dis, who'd been in charge while he was gone, got it all hushed up real fast. Passed power back t' Thorin an' nothing was said o' it after that.” Bofur shrugged. Bella took a breath and then another when the first didn't help.

   “And you didn't realize it was him?” Bella snapped. Even as she said it, she knew it was too much to have expected Bofur—low-class miner that he was—to interact with and recognize his king. She groaned. What a wretched friend she was! Admonishing Bofur like this for something he had no control over. “Oh, Bofur, I am sorry, that was out of line. I just—I don't know what to think.”

   “Come sit, lass.” He gently took her arm and tugged her back over to the table. “Bombur, there's ale in the larder, jus' through there. We need somethin' stronger than tea.” Bombur heaved himself out of his seat and wandered off to find the ale. Bofur slung an arm around Bella's shoulders.

   “It'll be okay, Bella. We'll figure this out.” Bella sighed heavily. She didn't see how Bofur's unfailing optimism could still hold in this situation.

   “Oh, I _know_. I just . . . This is all so much to take in.” She leaned into Bofur's one-armed hug. “What am I going to do?” It was then that the back door opened and in came Birla and Aster. Aster was yelling at the top of his lungs.

   “Bifur! Bofur!” Aster shouted. “Momma, they're here!” Birla came dashing into the kitchen, eyes bright with excitement, while the sounds of Aster being greeted by Bifur came from the hall.

   “Bofur! _Irak'adad!_ ” Birla squealed. She was a bit more reserved than her brother, but ran for a hug nonetheless and was greeted warmly with a tight embrace from Bofur.

   “Ah, Birla,” Bofur grunted as they hugged, “how's the little devil of Bag End?” Birla pulled away, rolling her eyes but grinning ear to ear all the same.

   “ _Sigrún_ is out playing.” She said pointedly. “I'm just fine, though. I've started on a new book on wars of the Second Age. Just finished the War of the Elves and Sauron.” She took a seat down at the table, looking around the kitchen. “ _'Amad_ , is there any tea on?”

   “Yes, on the stove.” Bella said absently. She pushed against her forehead with her knuckles. “Darling, you think you could keep Aster busy for a little while? Your uncles and I have things to discuss. Shouldn't be too long.” She could feel Birla's questioning gaze on her.

   “We'll go weed the garden.” Birla said before leaving without any tea at all. “Aster, c'mon,” she could be heard in the hall. Aster protested, but his and Birla's voices faded as they left Bag End.

   “The others'll be here probably after sundown.” Bofur said once the children were out of earshot. “Thorin left before us to go to meet with lords from the other kingdoms, but he'll be here all the same. Do you—will you be wantin' t' explain things t' him 'r just . . . not?”

   Bella knew how she wanted to answer. She wanted to meet Kagin on the road, wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him and demand to know what in Valars' name had happened. She wanted to sit him down and explain things and magically have her husband back after twelve years of thinking he'd never again set foot in Bag End. She was no fool, however, no matter what others might say. Violet had explained things more than once, back when Kagin had first been found. There was no guarantee of the memories returning, even with help or prompting. Nothing Bella could say or do could promise to bring Kagin back fully. She knew, also, what he'd most likely think of her if she tried to explain things to him. Even with proof, he'd think she was a charlatan, no doubt, a swindler after his power and money. How else would he see a woman he didn't know, claiming to be a wife he didn't remember? Oh, he'd think the worst for sure and she wouldn't be able to blame him for it. Valar only knew what kind of schemes were often enacted against royal families of the world—especially the line of Durin that had ever fallen victim to bad luck. He would see her as a fraud, nothing else. There was really only one thing to do, though it would break her heart to do it.

   “There's nothing we can do or say that will restore his memories.” Bella finally said. She stood, shaking out her nerves and steeling herself for what would, no doubt, be a long day. “I've spoken to Violet many times about such things. There is no surefire way to bring back lost memories. We simply will have to hide it while he's here and hope . . .” She trailed off, not sure what they could hope for. She was reluctant to even say the word in the first place. Hope was such a dangerous, hurtful thing after all. “We can hope for a return of his memories, but such results are, I fear, a folly.”

   And with that (and hearing nothing of Bofur's attempts to dissuade her pessimistic thinking) Bella returned to preparing the supper, pausing only to take a healthy drag from the mug of ale Bombur brought when he returned from the pantry with it and a bowl full of biscuits. She had lots to do, after all, before her guests arrived and sitting around wallowing would do nothing to get things done. Bofur, however, wasn't quite finished with the conversation.

   “What'll ye tell the children?” He asked softly, eyes trained on the hall in case the young ones decided that it was time to come inside.

   What _would_ she tell the children? She couldn't imagine any situation that wouldn't end in their hopes being cruelly dashed. Valar, Bella wished she could just tell them nothing of it at all, but she knew it wouldn't be fair to them.

   “I will—they know the story of how their father and I met.” She croaked. Her hands shook at the very thought of the conversation she'd have to have with the children, but she soldiered on. “They're smart, Bofur. I'll sit them down tonight, before the company comes, and explain things. I pray they'll understand that this doesn't mean their father is coming back.” Bella's eyes stung with tears. Oh, but they would hate her for this for sure! Bryony and Birla would be especially devastated. They out of all the children remembered Kagin the most. They had stayed up every night for months after Kagin had disappeared, waiting for their father to come home. The evening they'd given up for good on his return had been a bitter one indeed. Bella still couldn't think of it, all these years later, without pain in her heart.

   A hand landed on her shoulder and Bella looked quickly up to see Bifur standing at her side.

   “ _Fu' ya targzu._ ” He rumbled softly, a gentle smile on his face. Bella gave him a watery smile. “ _Zai irakumêzi zamansharabi. Ma sashaffikhiya, 'agshazihar._ ” Bella allowed herself a short, choked sob and nothing more. If she truly started to cry now, she wouldn't stop anytime soon.

   “Thank you, my dear friend.” She said with a voice thick in unshed tears. Bifur beamed at her before shuffling off, muttering about daisy chains and the children.

   “Bifur's right, Bella.” Bofur announced when Bella had had a moment to compose herself. “No matter how this turns out, we'll stick by you.” She nodded sharply.

   “Again, thank you.” She muttered to the tabletop. “I don't—I doubt I'd make it through this with my sanity intact if I didn't know you were here for us.”

   With their course of action decided on, Bella came to the conclusion that hiding Kagin's identity would be much easier if there were as few signs of him around Bag End as possible. It would hardly serve their purposes to leave the portraits of him hanging around the smial, would it? So, Bella stayed cooking in the kitchen while instructing the others on what items should be hidden from public view in order to keep anyone from recognizing Kagin's former presence in the home. Once they'd taken down the portraits and sketches that hung on the walls and made sure to scour the public rooms for signs that might hint to Kagin's identity, they allowed Birla and Aster back into the smial for a late afternoon tea. If the children thought there was anything odd about their family portraits suddenly disappearing, they said nothing.

   Bella finished cooking not long after dark. Bombur, who turned out to be quite the cook, ended up helping her more than a little with her preparations. He was a soft-spoken, somewhat shy thing, but he was cheerful as well and ready with a smile whenever Bella started rambling about Grandmother Adamanta's famous creamy potatoes and mushrooms or Sigrún's predilection for Tookish adventures so early in life. She mused out loud if her second youngest would end up leaving the Shire entirely, but Bombur had nothing to say to that so Bella moved onto the topic of which drinks were best for what meals and that got him talking again.

   By the time the children filed in for dinner, Bella and Bombur had managed to finish a little more than half of their planned dishes for supper. The food already done was set out on the dining room table to clear space in the kitchen.

   Dinner was had. Bella fielded questions about the food in the dining room while the children ate at the kitchen table. No, it wasn't for them. Yes, there were guests coming. Friends of Bofur and Bifur's. No, they wouldn't be staying very long, just tonight and then they'd leave tomorrow. Absolutely not, no one was going to be allowed up past their bedtime to greet the visitors. They would be staying overnight, the children could meet them in the morning.

   Bofur helped distract the others with bedtime stories while Bella wrestled Sigrún into the tub for a good scrubbing between dinner and supper. Sigrún had gotten into some sort of scuffle with Andwise (Bella was going to be having a talk with the Gamgees). She was covered in mud when she came home. Her hair was tangled, she had a bruise on her jaw, and there were brambles stuck to her clothes and in her braids. Bella had stayed quiet through dinner, but once she'd gotten Sigrún into the bath, it was time for a talk.

   “What happened today, love?” Bella asked softly as she gently worked a weak soap into Sigrún's hair. Sigrún shrugged.

   “Nothin'.” She mumbled to her knees. Bella raised an eyebrow.

   “That,” she said, lightly touching the bruise on Sigrún's jaw, “is not nothing. What happened?” They sat in silence for a while longer. Bella finished washing Sigrún's hair and rinsed it out. She was washing behind Sigrún's ears when Sigrún decided it was time to speak. She took a shuddering breath.

   “Andy says we aren't supposed to be here.” She said. Bella dropped the washcloth she was using. It fell into the bathwater and sunk to the bottom. Oh, she was going to be doing more than just talking with the Gamgees first thing tomorrow, after the company left.

   “What exactly did he say, Sigrun? What happened?” She pressed. Sigrun turned away from her.

   “Saw Bofur 'n Bifur comin' up the lane. I wanted to run an' say hello, but . . . Andy saw 'em too. He said,” Sigrun took a shuddering breath. Bella wanted to march over to the Gamgees' smial and put Andy straight. “He said they didn't have any right bein' here. They make everyone uncomfortable and he wishes they'd not visit and go back where they came from.”

   Bella sighed heavily. She leaned on the side of the tub, needing some support for yet another round with the Shire's less welcoming residents. This wasn't the first time someone in Hobbiton had made it clear they weren't overly fond of outsiders. A distrust of the strange and new wasn't an uncommon trait in hobbits, but most were able to put it aside when it came to greeting travelers. Once those travelers over stayed their welcome, of course, that was when things changed. Aunt Tansy had been one of the most outspoken against her marriage to a “savage dwarf smith” in her words and refused to speak to her after that incident during a Yule celebration. Meanwhile, Camilla never missed an opportunity to make snide, underhanded comments about the children's heritage. There were others—those few left that hadn't been won over by the children's charm—that thought Bella had had no right marrying someone other than a gentlehobbit. They usually kept their mouths shut around the children. Apparently they'd decided it was time to involve the younger generation in their war of wills.

   Unaware of her mother's straying thoughts, Sigrún continued on.

   “I said they're my uncles and family and I loved havin' them here.” She sniffed. “He said I should go back with them when they left. Then I punched 'im.” Bella smiled despite herself. Then she sighed. What could she say about this that hadn't already been said?

   “Now, Sigrún,” Bella started in a most conspiratorial tone, “I'm going to tell you something and you must _promise_ me that you'll not tell the others.” Sigrún was reluctant, but curious. She turned to give her mother a dubious look. “I gave your Great-Aunt Tansy a great, fat welt across her face when she told me that your father would be best off leaving for whatever cave he and his 'degenerate kin had crawled from'.” Sigrún's eyes grew wide.

   “Did you, Momma, really?” She turned completely in the tub, making water slosh close to the edge. Bella chuckled and ran a hand through Sigrún's curls.

   “Yes, I did, darling. But you mustn't tell the others.” She pressed their foreheads together, staring deep into Sigrún's eyes. The sullen despair that had been there before had been replaced almost completely by amusement. Almost. “And you mustn't let people like Andy and Aunt Tansy have any say in how you live. They are nothing but cowards, too afraid to look past their garden gate for all the things of the world that would make them happy.”

   “Do we make you happy, _'amad_?” Sigrún asked in a small voice. Bella smiled so hard she felt her cheeks would break.

   “You make me so happy, I can hardly stand it!”

   Sigrún squealed, beaming like the sun, and pulled away to splash a handful of bathwater at her mother. Billa ducked, but still caught some on her shoulder, and retaliated with a playful swat with the washcloth. Sigrún yelped. She pushed herself to the far end of the tub, which wasn't far, and laughed as she cowered in the water.

   “No, don't, _'amad_!” She shrieked. But Bella wasn't listening to any pleas. She scooped Sigrún out of the water (for the child was as clean as she would get at this point) and enveloped her in the towel hung on a nearby rack for just this purpose. Sigrún cackled as Bella rubbed her down, tickling once in a while to keep the laughter alive.

   When Sigrún was quite a bit less damp, Bella sat back on her rump with a huff, pulling Sigrún into her lap for a warm hug. They sat there for quite some time. Bella simply enjoyed holding her daughter close. She was growing up and it wouldn't be long until Sigrún started to wander farther than ever from her mother's side. So, Bella gave Sigrún's hair one last, firm tousle, and then settled on the floor with Sigrún curled into her chest, breathing heavy after her laughing fit. Bella's backside was starting to get rather sore when Sigrún spoke softly, addressing the towel she had bunched in her fingers.

   “Did Poppa make you happy?” She asked hesitantly. Bella's heart clenched in familiar wistfulness.

   “Your poppa made me as happy as you do.” She leaned forward to press a kiss to Sigrun's curls. “I love him still, more than anything. There are some things, darling, that you'll find stay all your life long, no matter how many years they've been gone.” And, with that, Bella gave her an extra tight squeeze and removed their persons from the bathroom floor to get ready for bed.

   The others were dressed in their bedclothes and seated around the parlor when Bella emerged from her room a little while later, a half-asleep Sigrún on her hip and a brush and set of hair ties in hand. Bofur sat in Bungo's old armchair by the fire, animatedly narrating the story of the traveling merchant dwarf. Morion sat closest to him. Her eyes were wide with awe as Bofur told his tale. His arms waved wildly, his eyes sparkled, his mustache looked as though it were about to dance off his face—Bofur was always so wonderful at entrancing an audience with his storytelling. Bella settled on the loveseat. Sigrún sat down on the floor in front of her.

   While they listened to Bofur's stories, Bella brushed out and braided her children's hair. By the time she'd finished with Aster's hair, they were all slumped in their seats (or, in Morion's case, on the floor by Bofur's chair) and very much ready to go to bed. Supper was a simple meal of quickly fried fish and vegetables. As they tucked in, Bella knew that she could no longer put off the conversation she'd been dreading since Bofur had given her the news of Kagin today.

   “Remember how I said we'd be having visitors tonight?" She said, addressing the fish before her. Noises of confirmation came from around the table. Bella felt hollow. Her hands trembled so hard, she put down her cutlery with a sharp clatter. The children startled, all of them watching her now with worry in their eyes. “I—” Bella couldn't do it. She couldn't do this to her children! She—She locked eyes with Bofur. He was sitting in the parlor, having a smoke with Bifur. He noticed her distress and gave her a reassuring nod. Bella took a breath and started again. “I received some news today, about one of the dwarrow that will be staying with us tonight.” Birla frowned down the table at her, eyes shrewd and sharp.

   “What sort of news?” She asked, suspicious. Bella swallowed hard.

   “News of your father.” Bella spit it out before she lost all her courage.

   “They found him?” Birla's question came breathless and eager and Bella feared what hope might be growing in her daughter's heart. They were all going to hate her bitterly before the night was out.

   “Do you all remember how your _'adad_ and I met? How he couldn't remember anything about his life before, even years after his accident?” Sigrún nodded somberly and Morion frowned. Birla's eyes started to fill with tears; she might suspect what was coming. Bella steeled herself. She couldn't show her grief. She had to be strong for them. “Bofur found your _'adad_ , but he doesn't remember us, like he didn't remember who he was before he came to the Shire.” To say it out loud to them nearly broke her. It was to finally admit that there was no recollection of them in Kagin's mind or heart. He would come to Bag End tonight and it would be nothing but a stranger's home to him. “He's coming tonight, along with the other visitors, but he will not know Bag End or us. I wanted to tell you before he came, so you wouldn't be surprised if you saw him in the morning.”

   “But, what if he does?” Aster piped up in a tremulous tone, brows pulled together in worry. “What if he sees us and remembers?” Morion latched onto the idea.

   “Oh, like the stories you tell!” She cried happily. “All you have to do is kiss him, then, right?” Birla obviously had little faith in this suggestion. She was hunched in on herself, staring forlorn at her plate.

   “I'm afraid it doesn't work like that, love.” Bella said softly. Morion, where she sat next to Bella, deflated. Bella put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to her side. “I dearly wish it did.” She whispered as she laid a kiss to Morion's hair. “Oh, _how I wish_ this were a spell to be broken by a wizard or true love's kiss.” She looked around the table at her chidren to gauge their reactions.

   Birla was crying silently, her whole body stiff in her effort to keep quiet. Aster sat next to her. He sported the most dejected expression and was sniffling loudly. He wasn't quite crying yet, but Bella knew the tears would come soon enough. Sigrún's face was oddly blank as she started to pick again at her food. She tore her fish apart with vengeance, but she ate none of it. Bella felt the worst sort of mother.

   How could she have done this to them? They didn't deserve this pain. She'd been sure that she couldn't hide the truth from them—it wouldn't have been fair to them—but now? Her surety failed and she was left wondering if this had been a huge mistake.

   “We must not say anything to him.” She finally managed. Aster looked up at her, bewildered. Sigrún scowled at her plate.

   “But, if we don't, he'll never know!” Aster cried. His cheeks flushed with desperate anger.

   “I'm sorry, love,” Bella reached across the table to take his hand, but he recoiled abruptly and she decided not to push. “I wish we could, but there's nothing to say he would believe us. He knows nothing of us, nothing of our character. There is nothing we can say or do to prove he was your father—nothing that cannot be discounted anyway. I am _so terribly sorry_.” Her voice broke. Tears threatened to spill. Bella blinked them back. “But you all must promise me that you won't say anything of this to him, should you see him tomorrow.”

   Bella felt as though she were a tyrant king, exacting loyalty from subjects that would wish nothing more than her immediate dethroning. The children fought tooth and nail. Aster and Morion especially had trouble accepting the news, Aster out of a sense of duty to the shining, distant memory of his father that he held dear. Morion had nothing but stories to go on, but she'd always hoped for the day that Kagin would magically come back to Bag End and make their family whole again. Bella was a wretch for destroying these ideas, but she knew she had to be firm in this. In the end, they all agreed to speak nothing of Kagin to him, should they run into him in the morning.

   Then it was off to bed with them. Bella got them all herded off to their rooms and tucked into bed. They went quietly, for once, though tears were had all around before they managed to get to sleep. Bella sat patiently with them until their eyes closed and their breathing deepened with sleep.

   Once they had drifted off, Bella freshened up in the bathroom and returned to the kitchen to continue helping Bombur. He had continued working since dinner to get the feast ready for their guests while Bella had taken care of her children. It was with a sense of great urgency and also great accomplishment that they added the last of the food to the table, only twenty minutes after the children were put to bed. With one last look around the dining room, Bella decided it was the best that could be done on such short notice and set about doing some last minute tidying about the smial. Never let it be said that a Baggins (with proper warning of course) welcomed guests into a disheveled home.

   There was only so much she could do, however, and finally Bella was forced to take a seat at the kitchen table and wait for the guests to arrive.

   They didn't have to wait long, it turned out. Not a quarter hour after the table was finally set, Bag End's front door opened and soft feet were heard pattering down the front hall. Bella looked up expectantly. Goodness, was that Bryony? She'd forgotten all about her daughter's trip and subsequent return in all the excitement. Sure enough, Bryony's blonde head appeared in the entryway to the parlor as she peered into the room.

   “ _'Amad?_ ”

***

   With Master Dwalin firmly ensconced at the dining room table, making his way through Bella and Bombur's carefully prepared meal, Violet Fowley made her presence known. She'd waited patiently to be acknowledged, but it soon became clear that if she was going to find out what was going on, she was going to have to push herself into this situation whether anyone wanted her there or not. She approached Bella after the dwarf had taken up residence at the table and pulled her off to the side, giving Bofur and Bifur a suspicious sideways look as she did.

   “Bella, if y' don' mind my askin', what in Valars' name is goin' on 'ere?” Violet hissed, trying to keep her voice down lest she be heard by Mrs. Baggins' visitors. Bella gave Violet a long, hard look, no doubt mulling over an answer that would appease her. Violet wouldn't take a half-assed answer from her, though. She crossed her arms and looked sternly at Bella. “An' don't you go sayin' you've no idea. Yer not nearly upset enough to not've known this was comin'.” Bella pursed her lips, but didn't deny it. Violet knew her too well. She'd been with the Baggins family since her mother had started her on as an apprentice. So, she stayed her tongue and allowed Bella to think up a legitimate answer to her question.

   “They've come to visit with Masters Bofur and Bifur from the Blue Mountains, Violet, that's all.” Bella finally said evenly. Too evenly. “They'll be staying the night and then they'll be off tomorrow in the morning. I appreciate your concern, dear,” she put a hand on Violet's arm, “but this is one thing I require no assistance in.” Violet wasn't the least bit convinced—and was about to say so—but there was something in Bella's bearing that gave her pause.

   Bella had ever been one to spit in the face of adversity and challenge. Had she not lost her husband, Violet had no doubt that Bella might have had a few adventures of her own before truly settling in for a life in the Shire, but events had conspired against her. Still, Violet and all of Hobbiton (practically all the West Farthing and part of the East as well) knew at this point that Belladonna Baggins possessed a fire within her that was meant for things much, much grander than a home's hearth. She—Violet took a breath and let it out. There was no point arguing this, especially when she knew that Bella could stand on her own two feet, thanks ever so much.

   “You'll let me 'r Holman know, if you be needin' anything?” It was anything but a question. Violet fixed her fellow lady hobbit with a stern look. She may be long in the tooth compared to the mistress of Bag End, but she had steel in her bones and fire in her heart just as much as Bella. Bella smiled, sensing her friend's concern.

   “Trust me, Violet,” she said kindly, “you two will be the first to know if something comes up. Thank you ever so much for bringing Bryony home. I'll send some pies 'round tomorrow, how's that?” Violet smiled. The tense moment, the fear of the strangers in Bag End, dissipated for now.

   “Sounds wonderful. I'll see you tomorrow then.” She cast a shrewd look back toward the dining room, from which loud conversation was issuing forth. “You keep an eye on that lot, won't you? You 'n I know full well the mess a group of dwarves can make.” She and Bella shared a laugh and then Violet left.

   Once the door had shut behind Violet, Bella retreated to kitchen. She leaned against the counter and took a deep breath. This was only the beginning. Kagin was coming with this group. He was going to be back in Bag End—he would be home again with his wife and family and he wouldn't know it. She had told Violet that she would be fine, but had that been the truth? Would she be able to bear it? Having him stare at her without recognizing her for who she was? Her knees wobbled at the thought, but before she could truly panic again about her husband's looming arrival back into her life, the bell rang. Valar damn it, Bella cursed Gandalf and Kagin and dwarrow all at once as she rushed to get the door.

   On the other side of the door was a stout, stately dwarf with a swooping, forked beard and hair a matching shade of snowy white. His eyes twinkled much the same way Old Took's had and he had an altogether jaunty air about him. His hands were folded on his waist and he turned to peer in through the doorway at Bella with a friendly grin.

   “Good evening.” He said amiably. Bella found herself smiling back despite the butterflies running riot in her stomach.

   “'Evening.” Bella answered back. “I, er, suppose you're here with the party from Ered Luin?” He stared at her for a long moment, before nodding decisively.

   “Aye, madam, that I would be.”

   “Well, come in then. Welcome to Bag End.” She stepped aside to allow him past her into the smial. “I am Belladonna Baggins, at your service.” The dwarf continued to smile at her as he moved past her and into the front hall.

   “Balin, at yours.” He replied. Bella nodded, shutting the door behind him. Yes, he must be connected somehow to Dwalin. Dwarf families tended to have rhyming names. “Am I late?”

   “Oh, no, not at all.” Bella assured him. “Things have only just started. You're quite welcome to make yourself at home. You can leave your boots and things here at the door,” she gestured toward the pile of belongings that was starting to grow (and undoubtedly would get much bigger before the night's end) as he stepped inside, “and there's supper on the table down the hall. Bofur?” Bofur came bouncing out of the kitchen. “Bofur, be a dear and show Master Balin here to the food. I believe we already have a relative of yours. Master Dwalin?”

   Balin perked up at the sound of the name, but he still took his time to unlace and remove his boots and set his things where they belonged. Weapons went carefully in the carved chest Kagin had kept his swords and knives in (one with a lock on the front to keep prying little fingers out). Traveling packs lined the front hall in a neat row. Bella helped Balin set it straight before releasing him into Bofur's care to be shown to the dining room. Bella made quite sure that the dwarrow's boots weren't about to tip over into all out chaos and then hurried down the hall after them.

   “Brother!” She heard from Balin as she approached. There was an answering yell from Dwalin and Bella glanced down the hall, checking for signs that the children had been woken by the noise. There wasn't a peep from that end of the smial and Bella breathed easier as Dwalin and Balin greeted each other enthusiastically.

***

   Next to appear was a pair of young dwarrow that Bella would peg as early seventies, at the oldest. Probably younger than that, if the younger one's scruff was any indication. It was barely enough to cover his face and nowhere near enough to be called a beard. She was fairly certain that Birla had more of a beard at the moment . . . Bella shook off that thought and focused on the boys again. They certainly were quite young and looked to be brothers, the elder of the two fair of hair and eyes where the other was dark. They looked—suspicion curled in her gut. They looked familiar.

   “Hello?” She prompted when they took a moment to stare openly at her, shocked, no doubt, that their supposed burglar was instead a hobbit housewife. They shook themselves then and greeted her.

   “Fili,” said the blond.

   “And Kili,” said the younger.

   “At your service.” They finished the sentence in unison and, together as one, swept into deep bows.

   Bella bit her lip to keep from snorting. She wondered how long they'd had to practice before they'd no longer bashed heads together. They reminded her of Birla and Bryony when they were—Bella felt as though she'd been punched in the gut as she suddenly realized exactly how they looked familiar.

   The fair one had the same dimples as Morion and Birla, deep on the left cheek and shallow on the right, but both showing proudly as he smirked at her, and his hair was nearly the same shade as Bryony's. The other had Aster's nose and the mischievous grin he sported was reminiscent of the one Sigrún wore when she'd gotten away with something clever. Oh, Bella's whole body shook. She gripped the door tightly to keep from falling over, though it was a close thing. She was going to be sick. Earlier suspicions of a family left behind, of heirs to the king that Kagin truly was, bubbled viscous and thick in her mind. They must be his! The blond one especially had his bearing—the regal features Bella had always loved so dearly were reflected almost perfectly in the dwarf on her doorstep. And they surely were older than she; they must be children that Kagin had unwittingly left behind when he'd been found in the Shire. Oh, oh, she was never going to forgive herself!

   It was then that Bella realized she'd gone quite some time without saying anything and the boys in front of her were staring at her expectantly.

   “You lot here with the others?” Bella managed to conceal her inner turmoil, though how, she had no idea.

   “Aye,” said Fil—no, the younger one was Kili, “you must be Mr. Boggins.” Bella blinked owlishly at them. Mr. Bo—well, that explained some things.

   “No, _I am not_ Mr. Boggins.” She said firmly. She rallied herself with a brisk shake of the head. Now was not the time for her to be going to pieces. “In fact, there is no such thing as a Mr. _Bog_ gins, only a Mr. _Bag_ gins and, in any case, I am not he.” The brothers exchanged a confused look. “I am _Mrs._ Baggins. You two can come along in.” Before any more could be said, Bella ushered them into the hall. “Boots go with the others—I'll not have boots come all the way from the Blue Mountains trailing who knows what on my floors. Weapons are in this chest, packs are over that way.” She gestured to each in turn and gave Kili a dark look when he seemed disinclined to leave his boots, instead trying to traipse down the hall with his muddy boots still on. “Excuse me, master dwarf,” she deftly grabbed his arm and pulled him back toward the door where his companion was dutifully removing his boots. “You'll be taking those muddy boots off before you take one more step into my home, thank you.”

   His ears turned pink and he mumbled a quick apology before joining his brother in removing his boots. Bella watched them like a hawk. When boots and belongings were properly stored, she allowed them farther into her home with a faint smile and an encouragement to have as much food as they liked. This made them brighten. They scampered off down the hall to greet the others with quite some enthusiasm.

   Bella allowed herself a short breather in the hall before going to check on her visitors. What kind of hostess would she be, after all, if she didn't make sure her guests were wanting for nothing?

   The dwarrow were already making merry in her dining room. Thankfully, Bella noted, they weren't dancing on the table (yet, she thought to herself, dwarf parties usually ended in dancing on the tables). Bifur was rifling through her pantry, no doubt looking for the greens she'd tried her best to keep off the table. Balin and Dwalin were talking in low tones, while the two newest arrivals were loading up on food and drink of their own. Bella watched the fun for a moment longer and then made her way down the hall to see how Bryony was getting on.

   She was still in the bathroom, taking a much needed bath after her past days' traveling.

   “I'll be out soon, _'amad_.” She called when Bella asked how much longer she'd be. “What on Arda is going on out there?”

   “Just some travelers come for a rest before moving on.” Bella answered back. Before anything else could be said, Bella remembered that she needed to speak to Bryony about the situation with Kagin and Thorin and what it meant for their immediate future. “I need to have a word with you, before you go to bed, but then I want you asleep as soon as possible, dear. I don't want you up too late.”

   “All right,” Bryony said.

   Bella went farther down the hall to check on the others. A quick ear to their doors revealed silence and peace. They'd had time to fall asleep before the dwarrow had arrived. She hoped they'd be able to stay asleep, despite the noise starting to come from the dining room. There was nothing she so keenly avoided as having to put the children back to bed after something disrupted their slumber.

   She told herself that she was most definitely not hiding from her guests as she spent another moment dithering before shuffling back toward the dining room to check on her company. Bella felt like a mother hen, clucking and worrying over her chicks, but she'd had dwarrow in her smial too many times to not worry over the state of her dishes when they sat down for a meal.

   Thankfully, they didn't seem completely devoid of manners. True, they talked with their mouths full, and ale sloshed a little too readily out of their steins, but over all they seemed to take even minimal care that her dishes and such remained intact. Bella really felt she couldn't ask much more than that, given the raucous nature of dwarrow. She was even half-tempted to join them in their gaiety. She could use a good drink or two before—before Kagin—Thorin arrived. Actually, that sounded like a grand idea. She needed a drink.

   Bella squeezed around the table to the barrels of ale on the other end of the dining room. Once she'd managed to get around what would surely become a food fight between the younger two dwarrow, Bella poured herself a foaming tankard of ale and took a long drag from it. Bofur crowed from his place at the table.

   “Aye, there you go, lass!” He roared as he slammed his own tankard down on the table. “Show 'em how its done!” Bella finally parted with her ale and, in an extremely unladylike gesture, wiped away the froth on her upper lip with the back of her hand. Bofur whooped loudly, which Bella ignored. He always tried to egg her on, but she'd not do anything with a drink that she didn't already want to do.

   Just then the doorbell went ringing off again. Bella sighed heavily, but put her ale down and went to answer the door.

   “Coming, coming!” She called, so as to keep any impatient visitors from further abusing her doorbell.

   Bella approached the door with what could only be described as anticipatory nausea. Was this it? Would Kagin be there when she opened the door? Oh, Valar, she was going to be sick. Maybe, it wasn't too late to do a bunk to her room and refuse to come out until they'd all left. No, she scolded herself for the thought. No, she'd just have to muddle through, like she always did. Now was not a time for shirking her responsibilities as a hostess, nor would she give anyone the satisfaction (however unaware they were of having it) of having scared her off like that. With that thought, Bella firmly took the doorknob and pulled Bag End's door open.

   In fell a pile of dwarves, each less happy about being there than the next. Gandalf lurked behind them, chuckling at his companions' misfortune. Bella planted her hands on her hips and leveled him with the best glare she could manage.

   “Gandalf,” she said, “I've quite a bone to pick with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations:  
> Lâsh - an exclamation of wonder or excitement  
> magrith - bear that is young (playing off Birla's name, which means "bear")  
> Irak'adad - uncle (literally "side-father")  
> Fu' ya targzu - "Up with your beard" is a Dwarven saying along the lines of "chin up"  
> Zai irakumêzi zamansharabi. Ma sashaffikhiya, 'agshazihar. - We will stand at your side. Do not doubt this, 'agshazihar. ('Agshazihar is an honorific especially for mothers. It is a great honor to be called this.)  
> Translations and phrases are courtesy of the Dwarrow Scholar, who is a whole lot of help for fic writers like me!
> 
> Someone brought up the kids' maturity levels and I realized that I hadn't posted them! I'm feeling REALLY smart right now. Anyway, here they are:  
> Bryony and Birla - 20 yrs old - about 13 yrs maturity  
> Aster - 17 yrs old - about 11 yrs maturity  
> Sigrun - 15 yrs old - about 7 yrs maturity  
> Morion - 12 yrs old - about 5 yrs maturity  
> The older three are aging at Hobbit speed, until they reach adulthood, at which time their aging will slow considerably to a more Dwarvish speed. Morion and Sigrun got more Dwarf blood in them, so they're maturing even slower than their siblings, though they're still not going quite as slow as 100% Dwarf children do.
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos!


	4. Chapter 4

**6 April 1317 (Shire Reckoning)**

   According to Bella, a week and a half after he woke, it was the first days of April. The rain that Bella said had been coming down in droves since the beginning of March was gone for the moment. As such, Bella had come that morning, thrown his drapes open with cheerful abandon, and announced that it was time he get outside before he shriveled away in the shadows. Oh, how he wished to shrivel away in the shadows. The past weeks spent cooped up in bed had not lent to a cheery greeting of the sun when Bella finally got him out of bed and coaxed him out into the Green Dragon's back garden. After nearly a month spent in bed, with only short walks around the room in the past few days to help regain his strength, he felt as a colt learning its legs: shaky, unstable, and very much in danger of bringing down any one or anything within arm's reach, should he start to fall. Dipelta, thank Mahal, had set up a little table and two chairs for them to sit at while he took a rest from his walk and reveled in the feel of warm sunlight on his skin. Not that he would let Bella know he was reveling—oh no, not after all the grumbling and growling he'd done whilst moving from his room. No, he firmly planted a scowl on his face and did his best to look as though the nearby marigolds had done something to personally offend him.

   Bella cheerfully ignored his mood and settled down in her seat with the book she'd been reading him. The massive tome was unlikely to be finished any time soon, especially with the way Bella often stopped in the middle of a tale to make commentary on the characters and their dealings. It often ended in talk of everything from politics of the Shire to recipes for the Tooks' famous toffee to how much water exactly a patch of tomatoes needed to grow well enough to win first prize at the summer fair in July. Today, the narration of an Elvish venture to the Wilderland was interrupted by a sudden question from Bella.

   “You don't remember your name, do you?” She spoke as if such a thought had just occurred to her and couldn't possibly wait until later to be voiced. He blinked owlishly over at her.

   “No,” he finally answered, after a long moment of thought. It dismayed him, however delayed the realization was. Bad enough to wake in a strange place with no remembrance of his past, but to have no recall of his very name on top of it all—had he been entirely abandoned by the Valar? How could he have forgotten his name? His chest ached. Who was he, if he had no name? Bella's hand landed on his arm. He looked up, feeling quite lost, to see her smiling kindly over at him.

   “We'll find you a new one, if you can't remember yours.” It seemed almost an oath. She spoke so gravely, her gaze never falling from his. After a long moment he nodded.

   “It wouldn't be much of a problem,” he said, “if I could remember dwarf names, even if they weren't my own.” Bella frowned.

   “Well, we'll start with whatever history books we can find. I've got a few on recent events of the age. If nothing can be found in them,” she smiled wryly then, pulling away from him, “perhaps that children's book of yours has something you like the sound of.”

   He laughed, then, loud enough to cause the birds in the garden to twitter and flit about nervously. It pulled at his still-aching ribs and the healing wound on his back, but he ignored it. It felt good to laugh, after the time he'd spent these last few days, dwelling on despondent thoughts of his unknown past.

   “I'm sure I'll find something.” He said with a chuckle. “I suppose I'll just need some time to think on a new name that will feel right on my tongue.”

   Bella nodded along, then picked up where she'd left off in the book. He only listened with half an ear. Instead, he started to think on names. He could think of none, which wasn't anything new (he had a habit of not being able to recall many a fact these days), but he could remember naming practices among dwarrrow, if nothing else. Children were often named after lost family members, either directly or through slight modifications. The dead were kept alive by the children named for them. He himself had been named after—he drew up blank. How odd was it, that he could remember he'd been named after someone, but not remember who? He shook his head like a dog trying to rid itself of a wet coat. Bella gave him a questioning sidelong look, but didn't pause in her reading. He merely shook his head again. She quirked a brow, but took the non-answer for what it was.

   Some hours later, when the sun had thoroughly soaked into his clothes and warmed him down to his bones, Bella decided it was time for him to attempt a longer walk than simply out his room and into the garden.

   “Not too far, mind,” she said when he didn't manage to hide his apprehension. “We'll take you out around the inn and then we'll see how things go. Violet's told me that you'll be having a little trouble, after spending so long in bed, but the more we work on it, the faster you'll be back to being able to move about as you please.” He grumbled at the reminder.

   Violet had been by a few days previously, when it had been determined that he could leave his bed without risking the worsening of his injuries. She advised him to start slow—“Dwarf or no,” she said, “I'll not have you coming back under my care because you tried to run before you could hardly walk again.” She'd talked to him about short walks around the inn and its property and then maybe strolls to market, up the lane, with someone to go with him in case he needed any help getting back to the Green Dragon. He'd bristled at the suggestion, but eventually (after an attempt to leave his room on his own that had ended in a nice sit down in the middle of the hall) agreed that it would be for the best to go with an escort for his first few walks, just in case.

   So, he allowed Bella to tag along as he made his way around to the front of the Green Dragon on legs that wobbled more the farther he went.

   Nearly a week after their first day spent out in the garden, he was no closer to discovering a new name for himself, but he managed to make it almost all the way to market on his walks with Bella. Today, Bella flounced in with her basket tucked under her arm, brightly beaming, and said that it was time for a trip to the market. He only gave the minimal complaint before allowing her to tug him out of the room and down the hall.

   The weather had drastically improved in the past week. Gone were the storm clouds that had hung ominously over every waking moment for the first week he'd been awake. In their place were puffy white clouds that scooted lazily across a brilliantly blue sky. The air was fresh, light, as they strolled down the lane toward Hobbiton's marketplace. Flowers of all colors had started to show in the hedgerow. They burst like fireworks—hues of purple, blue, pink, yellow, and stark white splashed across the fields and meadows. He was reminded faintly of the mines, how gems grew from the rock in a similar manner in patches of lovely, captivating color. Bella had told him briefly of Yavanna during one of their visits. The Green Lady blessed the Shire with such growth as Mahal had blessed the dwarrow with rivers of metals and their own blossoming gems in their mountain homes.

   He told Bella as much when he was particularly struck by a patch of what she said were grape hyacinths that reminded him strongly of a small cluster of amethysts. Bella giggled at the comparison.

   “I suppose, in this way, we are not too dissimilar, Master Dwarf.” She said airily as she considered the flowers. “But, where you lot harvest and gather the things that grow in the rock, we harvest and gather that which puts its roots in the rich earth.” Bella took a deep breath, closing her eyes and turning her face to the sun.

   He wondered, looking at her, if she was aware quite how natural she looked just then, her bare feet (and hadn't that given him quite a turn the first time they'd seen them) planted firmly on the dirt road, honey-gold curls shining in the light, her sun-kissed skin making it clear that the outdoors were where she truly loved to be. She had a flower absently tucked behind her ear. Dwarrow, he knew, didn't spend much time in the sun if they could help it. They burrowed deep underground, away from the light of sun and moon, and would stay in their tunnels all their long lives if they had anything to say about it. Still, he understood her words. He couldn't remember his life, but he knew things—facts—that added up to an idea of what dwarf life was like. Having seen what he had of life in the Shire, he could see where the two races were similar in that regard. The both of their races reveled in the gifts the Valar had bestowed upon them. It warmed him to think of this thing they shared, this thing he could understand despite all other understanding he'd lost. The love of the Valars' gift to his kind was something he didn't think any blow to the head could erase. Given time, he thought to himself, he was beginning to think that he could perhaps come to enjoy the gifts that the hobbits had been given as well.

   They moved on after their brief reprieve and quickly came to market. He was rather proud of himself for managing to make it the whole way there without too much pain from his ribs and without needing a rest, but his sense of accomplishment was quickly swept away at the sight and sound of the marketplace.

   Hobbiton's market wasn't anything quite as impressive as the grand halls of the dwarrow (another thing he knew without _truly knowing_ ) but it was louder and more populated than anything he'd experienced thus far. Stalls and carts were settled around the square. Merchants and farmers hollered to passersby. Children shrieked with laughter as they ran between the stalls, their mothers watching them with fond smiles before returning to their shopping. It was hectic and, between the noise and the vibrant colors that hobbit clothing seemed to always sport, he was quite sure he'd have a headache if he stayed too long. He almost wanted to ask if they could return to the Green Dragon and try again another day. But he was no coward, or weakling, so he allowed Bella to lead him into the fray.

   He ran almost immediately into a woman bustling by with a child on each hip and one hanging off her apron strings. Bella laughed as he pulled up short and apologized.

   “Come,” she said, still laughing, as she took his hand in hers, “you'd better hold on, else you might get misplaced.” She threaded her fingers through his, tightened her grip, then tugged him along in the direction she wanted to go.

   “Nonsense, Miss Baggins,” he retorted. “We dwarrow were gifted, among many things, with an excellent sense of direction upon our making.” Bella frowned dubiously. He gave her a moment to guess before grinning over at her. She giggled and gave his hand another tug.

   Bella was a tiny thing, as all hobbits seemed to be. Her riotous curls barely reached his chest, but she led him through the crowds of hobbits as though he were a child. Not that she had any trouble getting through the crowd. Oh, quite the contrary. The citizens of Hobbiton must have heard long before today of the dwarf that had washed up on the banks of the Water. They gawked and whispered behind hands as he and Bella made their way to a stall offering a variety of cookware. He plodded along, hoping that this interest in his person would quickly die down; he had no love of the attention that Hobbiton had set on him.

   They bought nothing that day. Instead they walked around the market, taking time to sit and rest when his legs refused to take him any farther. Bella greeted every person they met with a smile and a friendly hello. He tried to do the same, but his smiles felt forced and his greetings fell awkwardly from his mouth. The hobbits he met seemed all too interested in staring at him like some attraction in a traveling circus and not at all interested in actually speaking to him. One particularly rude fellow, after saying hello, promptly turned to Bella and proceeded to have an entire conversation as though he wasn't standing at her elbow, though he did keep shooting curious looks at him when he thought he wouldn't notice. Not long after, he and Bella decided to call it a day and left the market.

   “Well, what do you think?” Bella asked once they'd left the bustle of the market. “Think you can put up with curious, gossiping hobbits long enough to become well again?” Her lips were quirked ever so slightly and her eyes danced with mirth. He chuckled.

   “Oh, I think I'll be able to manage.” He said. “Though, if one more person stares at me like that, I shall start charging a fee for them to see me.” Bella laughed so hard she snorted.

   “Goodness,” she finally said, breathless. They rounded the corner and the Green Dragon came into view. “You know, if you'd like, I'd like to have you around for tea at Bag End. When you're up to the trip of course. It's on the other end of Hobbiton, under the Hill.” She gestured in what must have been its direction. He turned to see the large hill on the far end of Hobbiton that must have been the one Bella spoke of. Looking at it, he knew he was at least a few days away from being able to walk that far.

   “Perhaps,” he said. “When I've enough strength for the trip.” Bella rewarded his wary promise with a bright grin.

   “I'll have to tell Mother, then, to expect you sometime.” Her smile dimmed some, but didn't disappear. “Mother's had . . . My father died, you see, quite some time ago. I like to have visitors often. Mother likes meeting with people, especially those new to town. It—there are few things that make her smile these days, but visitors often do the trick.”

   “What is your mother like, Miss Baggins?” He was imagining an older version of the young woman at his elbow, rounder and softer in her age, with gentle wrinkles marking a lifetime of happiness and grief.

   “Well, that depends who you ask.” Bella said easily. They paused at the door of the Green Dragon to allow two gentlehobbits to exit past them. “If you ask Father's side of the family (and indeed most hobbits) they'll say she's a wild soul, not at all proper, and that it's a wonder Father ever managed to get her to settle down and start a family.” They stepped into the Green Dragon. The scent of ale, food, and pipeweed was becoming familiar to him the longer he stayed. He took a breath and gave Dipelta a short smile as their eyes met across the dining room.

   “And what of the others? What would they say?” He asked as they made to an empty table. Since they'd started their walks around Bywater and into Hobbiton, Bella had stopped sitting with him in his room and insisted on having their meetings either out in the garden or in the dining room.

   “That would be Mother's side: the Tooks.” Bella explained. “They're all for a little fun, so long as it doesn't go too far. Mother lost a little respect when she left the Shire as a lass with Gandalf, that rogue, but Grandpapa has always been fond of her. His first daughter of three, they say Mother was his favorite.” He coughed loudly, drawing a concerned look from Bella.

   “Did you say he had _three_ daughters? Mahal's forge!” He couldn't imagine a family blessed with so many girls. It was a gift from Mahal to have even one girl born into a family, but three?

   “Oh, yes, three.” Bella chuckled. “And they are in and amongst nine sons. Grandpapa says that Grandmother Took put her foot down after the last—'If a dozen's good enough for a baker, it's good enough for you.'” He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Twelve! Rarely were dwarrow blessed with so many children. Hobbits must take after Men to be so plentiful.

   They spoke a little longer on hobbit families and their ways. Bella spoke of her expansive family on both sides of her family tree. It seemed the Bagginses were determined to be proper (at least, proper by hobbit standards) and respectable while the Tooks, while respectable, certainly didn't care quite as much about maintaining a reputation as homebodies. They differed enough in temperament and ideals that it had caused quite an uproar when Bella's parents had married. He could just imagine, given what he could remember, how much worse a reaction to such a union would be if it were between two dwarrow instead. He knew enough about his people to know that two families, so very different, would no doubt butt heads at every opportunity, should two of their own be joined together. He said as much to Bella, after a tangent on the flowers Mrs. Baggins had chosen for her flower crown. She promptly snorted the tea she'd been drinking out of her nose, coughing weakly.

   “I have to agree with you there, sir.” Bella said in a strangled tone as she grabbed her napkin and started mopping up the tea. “Family dinners would be that much more awkward if we were dwarves and not hobbits. I've heard legends of the stubbornness of dwarves. Good heavens!”

   “I cannot remember much of my own life,” he said, when Bella had finished cleaning herself, “but I know that dwarrow can hold grudges 'til the end of their days. From what I've seen hobbits are not like us in that regard?”

   “No, no, we tend to forgive and forget, unless a great hurt has—'dwarrow'?” She seemed to have just noticed the word, though it was hardly the first time he'd used it with her. “What does that mean?”

   “'Tis the proper term for dwarves.” He explained, more than willing to answer her question.

   “So, you are a dwarrow.” She seemed to try the word on her tongue, rolling it around and getting a feel for it. He shook his head.

   “I am a dwarf.” He softly corrected. “More than one dwarf is: dwarrow. Two dwarrow, three dwarrow, and so forth.”

   “Oh, I see.” Bella said with an air of curiosity. “Is that a dwarven word, or is it Westron? Only, I've never heard it used before.”

   “Er,” he had to pause to think on it, “it's Westron. We have words of our own, in our own tongue, for our race and others.” He stopped himself there. Khuzdul was not to be shared with strangers. Bella was sipping at her tea, watching him with avid wonder in her eyes. “We hold our language very dear and guard it jealously from others, I'm afraid.” Bella drew back abruptly.

   “I _am_ sorry,” she said emphatically. “I didn't mean to pry about it. I do apologize.” He waved away her concern. How could she have possibly known? He got the impression that he was the first dwarf in Hobbiton to do anything other than quickly travel through town. It would be unrealistic to expect anyone here to know even the slightest thing about dwarven customs. He needed to be as patient with the hobbits as he was with himself.

   “I can hardly expect you to know of our ways, Miss Baggins,” he said, “especially when I can only partly remember them myself.” Bella relaxed a bit and offered him a hesitant smile. “There, now, no harm done.” He drank from his mug, carefully watching his companion for further distress. The conversation turned to gardening after that.

   He wasn't much interested in plants and their upkeep, but Bella's eyes lit up when she spoke of the seedlings she was carefully cultivating in her kitchen until they were strong enough to be transferred to the garden. She was passionate about the growing things of the earth. He pondered on the green thumb all hobbits seemed to share as Bella rambled happily on, departing to him knowledge of things he doubted he'd ever truly need to understand.

   “You must be very careful, remember, to not put seedlings out in the garden too early in the year.” She said, all cheer and smiles as she taught him. “Too early, and they are at great risk to a frost or storm. Mother and I tend to do most of our planting around—well, actually, we just started yesterday to move some of the stronger ones out to the garden.”

   “Oh? What are you planting exactly?” He asked, only because Bella seemed quite happy as she spoke of Bag End's garden.

   “Well, strawberries, for one. We're putting a new cherry tree up on top of the Hill. Papa planted one when he and Mother got married, but we've been wanting to do more with the space lately. So, why not start our own little orchard?” Bella shrugged and sipped at her tea. “We'll see how one tree goes and, if all is well, we'll add another, maybe a different kind, in a few years. And, of course, there are my tomatoes.”

   Bella was striving for the blue ribbon at Hobbiton's fair this summer, most particularly for her tomatoes, of which she was especially proud. He didn't care for gardening, but the idea that hobbits entered into competitions over their greenery was one that intrigued him. Most dwarrow, he got the feeling, could hardly stand to look at vegetables that hadn't been fried, battered, or otherwise rendered entirely harmful to one's health and completely unrecognizable for what they were. Bella, however, was proud of her family's garden. She invited him to come see it in the summer, once he'd healed and was up to the trip.

   Bella spoke at length on proper planting techniques for close to an hour. Mostly, her words simply washed over him and he was only barely aware of them as he nursed his tea. Every so often, though, she would question him about this plant or that and he would have to come back to himself and give proper attention to the conversation again. Somehow, their talking turned from vegetables and fruit to flowers and, Mahal, did Bella have a lot to say on the subject.

   “Of course, you must be careful, not only _how_ you plant your garden, but _what_ you plant as well.” She declared firmly as Dipelta came 'round with a new pot of tea. “Thank you, dear.” Bella said in an offside, before returning to the topic at hand. “You wouldn't want your neighbors taking one look at your flowerbed and thinking you'd gone off and gotten yourself a mistress or scorned your family, or something equally ridiculous.” She snorted into her cup as she took a sip. He frowned. _What_ in Arda did she mean by _that_? How could the state of one's flowerbed say anything to your neighbors?

   “And how is that?” He had to ask because the idea that a garden could say anything to anyone looking was one he'd never encountered before.

   Bella looked quite astonished, as though it hadn't occurred to her that he might not know what she was talking about. She set down her tea with a soft clatter and her expression changed from her previous joking manner to one that was surprised and, it seemed, slightly confused.

   "Well, flowers mean things, of course!” She said, dumbfounded. Oh, yes, of course.

   “What?” Bella giggled at his confusion.

   “Goodness, I don't know why it's funny.” She gasped. “But, oh, I don't know, I suppose I've never thought that other races might not have the same customs as hobbits do. How silly of me!” Bella collapsed into giggles again. He could hardly help but chuckle along with her. At length, her giggles died down and she was able to answer his question. “Hobbits—We put special meaning into flowers and some plants. Anything that could be used as a bouquet is given a meaning. We call it the language of flowers. We use it to send messages to whomever gets the flowers.” Bella paused to pour herself some more tea. “Valars' sake, you could start quite a row if you were to present your wife with coxcomb or your husband's brother with red camillas!” She flustered and he wondered if Bella had personal experience with either of those situations.

   “And all hobbits know this?” He asked. Bella nodded, her curls flying every which way.

   “It's taught with letters and maths.” She insisted with wide eyes. “How can you court, or even gift your parents with a blossom, if you don't know what the flowers you're giving say?”

   “I suppose,” he said with a wry grin, “you would simply have to do as the dwarrow do and use words.” Bella scowled, but it was mirthful and he counted that as a jest well played.

***

   The next couple weeks passed in near-agony for Bella. Belladonna's ill humor had returned and worse now than it had been since the immediate days after Bungo's death. News of the courtship of a cousin—Adalgrim Took—to a girl named Clover Hollis down in the South Farthing had brought Belladonna down in a way Bella could never have seen coming. Instead of drawing her out of her mood, the news seemed to have reminded Belladonna only of the heartbreak she lived with now that Bungo was gone. Rosa Took's happy letter to her fond sister had prompted Belladonna to spend the first few days after its arrival in bed. She moved for neither threat nor bribe and only barely sipped at the tea Bella brought to her. Even after she deigned to leave her bed and go out into the parlor, she remained desolate and forlorn. On top of everything, as if her dreadful depression wasn't bad enough already, Belladonna had developed a cough that refused to shift, which only made her melancholy worse. Bella had tried everything she could think of to cheer her mother, but any smile she was granted lasted only a moment before fading away again. She was now at her wits' end.

   A bright, sunny day dawned and, as she tried to persuade her mother to take breakfast with her, Bella wished for the rainy days of March to return. At least then the weather would match her foul mood and serve as an excuse to anyone she saw for the frown on her face. It was even as though the good weather seemed to lift Belladonna's spirits any. She took one listless glance out the kitchen window and crumpled into a seat at the table, as uninterested in the outside world now as she had been when it had been storming those months ago.

   “Holman's coming 'round later,” Bella tried to keep talking as she readied their porridge and toast for a light breakfast. “Mrs. Greenhand has made a full recovery and wanted to thank us for our help. Holman says she'll be sending your favorite candied violets along with him.” She laid the table and took her seat across from Belladonna.

   “That'll be nice, I'm sure.” Belladonna said absently as she took up her spoon and slowly started to serve herself. She paused to cough so hard her eyes watered. Bella fetched a cup of tea, which Belladonna carefully sipped before returning to her food.“Yes, I'm sure the violets will be quite . . . quite nice.” Bella bit her lip, uncertain.

   She wanted more than anything to grab her mother by the shoulders and shake her, demanding she return to her old self. When spells like this lasted longer than a few days, Bella became downtrodden alongside her mother. Seeing the woman that had always been her pillar of strength and a source of joy on the darkest of days withered away and lost made Bella feel as a boat cut loose, drifting lost in the night. Despite the six years that had passed since her father's death, it never became any easier to watch when Belladonna descended into these spells of despondency. The longer they dragged, the more desperate Bella became to pull her mother from her misery. Some days, anger crept into her heart. Bella wondered if it was such a good thing that Belladonna kept hanging onto life. Would it not be better for them both, if she would simply fade and be reunited with her husband? Bella's dark, rancorous thoughts never lasted very long and always left her with guilt added to her wretched need to help her mother to feel better.

   Life slowed to a halt when Belladonna was in one of her doldrums. Bella stayed close to home, or never left the property, in case something happened and Belladonna needed her help. She had the groceries delivered from market and spent her days in the garden, Bag End's windows thrown open so she could hear if Belladonna called for her. When Ruby's letter had first arrived and her mother had fallen into her depression, Bella had sent a note to the Green Dragon, explaining to the dwarf there that she would be indisposed for the next few days and to not be alarmed should she suddenly stop visiting. There had been no answer and, when it became obvious that Belladonna's depression was to last much longer than a few days, Bella became so caught up in caring for her that she entirely forgot about anything else.

   She felt hopelessly trapped as she escaped from the house after breakfast to putter uselessly about the garden.

   There wasn't much to do outside. All the seedlings had been planted and the new cherry tree had been installed days back. Bella knelt in the grass anyway and carefully inspected the area for any stubborn weeds that had tried to sneak their way into her vegetable patch. There were few; she'd been out nearly all day yesterday and the day before and the day before, engaging in this pointless exercise to avoid going inside. Bella knew she must look to be a coward. No good daughter would run at the thought of caring for her mother. She should be thankful that Belladonna had the strength of will to, at least, stay with her until she was older. But . . .

   Bella's eyes stung with tears. She stood abruptly and threw her trowel to one side. This would not do! She was a Baggins. Bagginses did not bend or break in the face of adversity. She might not yet be a woman in the eyes of society, but she had borne the consequences of Bungo's death for six years! She could not afford to have such breakdowns while her dear mother was in need of her strength.

   “Oh, this will not do at all.” Bella muttered to herself. Limbs nearly twitching with unspent, restless energy, Bella grabbed her skirts and ran.

   She did not go far, only over the top of the Hill to the established cherry tree there. She slowed to a stop there. As much as she wanted to run the way across the Shire and off to distant lands where her responsibilities could no longer bother her, Bella knew it would be unwise to leave Belladonna entirely at the moment. Bella was tethered to Bag End in a way that was wholly unlike the nerves she used to get when too far from home.

   Bella sat heavily at the foot of the tree and stared blankly out over Hobbiton and, beyond it, Bywater. The day was bright, market was already opening and smoke was rising from the baker's chimney as well as from the old smithy in the distance. It was all muted to her eyes. How odd it was that one person's absence could leech all joy and color from life. If this was what love did to a body upon its loss, Bella was sure that she never wanted anything to do with it. It would be better, she was sure, to never know such pain. She sighed and gripped tighter the skirts she'd never let go of. Never did she so badly wished Bungo hadn't left them than when Belladonna became like this.

***

   It was another week before Belladonna was in any shape to be left alone while Bella went to market. By then, the garden had flourished and flowers were starting to bloom all around Bag End. Belladonna had pulled nearly entirely out of her slump. She still had stretches of melancholy throughout the day, but they were starting to be broken by a lighter mood. Coughs still racked her frame throughout the day, but Belladonna had started once again to hum as she wandered around the smial and helped Bella in the garden. Bella was tentatively hopeful that this was the end of the latest spell, but she'd had too many false alarms in the past to say anything for certain until they'd had a month without incident.

   “Anything special you need from market?” Bella called down the hall as she gathered her things for her first day out in almost a month.

   “Just some potpourri, if anyone's selling.” Belladonna answered from where she was in the kitchen. She'd set about making sweet rolls earlier in the day and was now rolling the dough out to shape them. “The garden isn't flowering quite quickly enough for me to enjoy the smell of blossoming flowers.” Bella's smile at her words was short-lived but sincere. It was good to hear her mother happier.

   “I'll see what I can find.” She promised.

   The walk to market was refreshing. The stress and worry of the last weeks subsided as she took in the sights and sounds of the Shire that she'd missed during her confinement to the Bag End. Sunlight warmed her back and a soft breeze tugged playfully at her loose curls. Bella took a deep breath as she practically skipped down the lane, forgetting for a moment the trials of late.

   Stopping to talk to neighbors and friends she hadn't seen in quite some time, Bella took her time shopping. She gathered the food that Bag End would need for the next week as well as some thread for a dress that needed some sprucing up around the edges. She chatted amiably with the haberdasher, Mr. Birchby, who lamented her long absence from his shop. Bella smiled and explained that her mother hadn't been feeling well and that she couldn't possibly have left her on her own before now. Mr. Birchy nodded, a knowing glint in his eye, and said he understood.

   “We've just had a delivery in from Michel Delving.” Mr. Birchby said as Bella took a turn around the shop to see what was new. “Got a beautiful array of ribbon and some new colors for embroidery thread.” Bella looked where he indicated and saw that there were indeed new shades available for purchase.

   “What a beautiful shade of green!” She couldn't help but gasp at the sight of a particularly fetching spool. It was a delicate, pale shade of green with just the barest hint of blue mixed in. Among the other new colors were some bright reds and yellows that she thought would look very nice around the corners of the shawl Belladonna was currently working on. “Oh, these will do very nicely indeed, Mr. Birchby.” He practically beamed at the compliment, chest puffing out in pride over his wares.

   "Well, if you're using those colors, may I perhaps interest you in some beads? We've quite a selection, it only bein' the fourth and all.” Mr. Birchby kept on about the beads, but Bella was distracted by the date. Goodness, was it the fourth already? The saying “how time flies when you're having fun” came to mind, but the last few weeks had been anything but fun. “ . . . certainly thought so. Miss Baggins?” Bella blinked and returned to the conversation at hand.

   “Yes?” She looked up to find Mr. Birchby staring expectantly at her. “I'm sorry, sir, my mind went elsewhere. What was it you said?”

   “The new smith.” he said as though that explained everything. “I went to him, hoping he could fix the mechanism on that dratted door of mine. He did a wonderful job—it always latches now and locks right proper—and I got a set of silverware commissioned for Mrs. Birchby's and my anniversary.” Bella frowned. Smith? What new smith? The last she'd heard of a smith coming to town was the day—oh! Of course!

   “The dwarf? The one I found in the Water?” She asked, feeling a little foolish for not realizing sooner. How could she have forgotten the dwarf? She'd faced all sorts of questions about him until . . . Well, of course no one had been able to question her about him while she'd taken care of Belladonna. Mr. Birchby nodded.

   “The very same, miss.” He confirmed. “Looks a great brute at first, but he spoke all genteel with me and the missus when he came to work on the door and go over designs for the silver.” Bella suppressed the urge to frown. Great brute indeed! He'd never been anything but a gentleman to her, albeit a grumpy one at times.

   “I must pay him a visit sometime.” She said to herself. “We've quite a bit of work that needs doing around Bag End, starting with that stubborn set of shutters that still refuse to work.” Bella thought, disparagingly, that they really should have stood up under the storm they'd weathered, but what was done was done and all she could do now was get them mended.

   “Well, I can say this: he'll have everything fixed nearly as fast as you can tell him what's wrong.”

   Bella left the shop with a small bundle of thread and ribbon tucked into her basket along with the rest of her things. Along with her purchases, she left with the thought that she should probably pay him a visit in the next few days. He must have thought her awfully rude to go as long as she had without any communication. How much she'd missed while stuck at Bag End! He'd gotten the smithy up and working and was already taking commissions. Goodness. Bella ran a hand through her hair and looked in the direction of the smithy. Hills blocked her view, but she fancied that she could see a small trail of smoke rising in the distance. Yes, she would have to pay him a visit as soon as she was able.


	5. Chapter 5

**27 April 1341 (Shire Reckoning)**

   Gandalf must have heard Bella's heated words, but she was forced to end things there for the moment as she greeted the dwarrow that were scrambling to their feet on her front step. Bella was quickly overwhelmed with greetings and scoldings when her newest guests tried to move past the front hall with their boots still on.

   “No, I insist you remove your shoes.”

   “I do, in fact, have a place to put your weapons. No need to pile them on the floor!”

   “Master dwarf, please don't go farther in 'til you've taken off your boots.”

   “That, Bofur, was entirely unnecessary and don't pretend you don't know what I mean, I saw you plain as day.” The last was over a rude hand gesture Bofur made in the direction of a shifty dwarf with one of the oddest hairstyles she'd seen to date. “ _Please_ , sirs, try to keep quiet. My children are in bed and I'd rather not have them wake.” Bella said firmly when voices started to rise.

   “Where's yer husband, ma'am?” Bella turned to see B-B—oh, drat what was his name? He'd come up behind her and gave her quite a fright at his sudden presence. Bella took a breath to calm herself.

   “No idea.” She all but snapped. “He left before my youngest was born and I've not seen hide nor hair of him since.” Bella quickly left to keep from losing her temper. No, her outburst was being saved for Gandalf, the great lug. _How dare he_ invite this many people to her home? And after she'd told him to forget about bringing her along on an adventure! Where had he wandered off to? Bella was going to give him a dressing down like no other.

   That was when Bryony gave a short shriek from the bathroom.

   Bella arrived on the scene to find Bryony, clad in her dressing gown, clutching her dirty clothes to her chest and staring wide-eyed over at a pink-faced Fili. Her chest heaved, but she and Fili both looked more sheepish than anything. The dwarrow were peering down the hall at the scene in various states of curiosity and concern.

   “Sorry, _birashagammi_ ,” Bryony was saying. “I didn't mean to shout. Oh, but you gave me a fright.” She took a deep breath and pushed her glasses up farther on her nose.

   “Everything all right?” Bella asked. Bryony nodded and the moment broke.

   “Oh, yes, I just got startled coming out of the bathroom.” She giggled breathlessly. Fili smiled briefly and then brushed her past into the bathroom. “Momma,” Bryony said when the door had shut, “I'll have some food before bed, if that's all right?”

   “Mm-hm,” Bella hummed as she looked her eldest over. She'd been gone quite a while and, oh, how Bella had missed her during that time. “Yes, that's quite all right, just make sure to be in bed soon, darling.” Bryony nodded and then hurried off down the hall to put her things away in her room.

   The others all quickly dispersed when it became obvious that the situation had been resolved. Bella wondered to herself, what had she been about to do? Ah, yes, Gandalf. She spotted him standing off to the side as the dwarrow settled into their meal.

   “Gandalf!” She hissed as she stalked up to him. “I'd like to have a word with you.” Gandalf straightened as best he could with the low ceiling overhead.

   “My dear, Bella, of course. What is it?” Bella knew she ought to take this into another room, so as to spare her visitors from having to listen to what would surely be the dressing down of the Third Age, but Gandalf's expression of utter innocence snapped what little patience she had left.

   “ _What in the name of Mahal's curly chest hair were you thinking?_ ” She didn't yell, but only just. Still, Bella said it loud enough to cause conversation at the table to grind to an uncomfortable halt. “It is one thing to invite yourself into someone's home for supper. It is another thing entirely to invite an entire company of dwarves who've been living off travel rations for a fortnight.” She puffed herself as large as she could, though she was still pathetically small compared to Gandalf. “And to _push them on me_ as though I'd be so cruel to turn any visitors away if I had proper warning about their coming. My husband's kin! _My_ kin! As if I'd ever do anything but gladly welcome them into my home, expected or not. _How_ could you think so low of me that you felt the need to spring this company on me?” At least Gandalf had the decency to look chagrined about this.

   “Ah, yes, Bella—”

   “Do _not_ interrupt me, I've only just started. Perhaps,” she said through gritted teeth as she finally recognized that an audience for this might not be the best, “you'd prefer to take this into another room?”

   It was only moments later that they were standing on the far side of the parlor. Bella paced back and forth in front of Gandalf, trying to organize her thoughts enough for a verbal assault. Gandalf opened his mouth to say something. Bella pounced before he could do any sort of his backward talking and worm his way out of this.

   “I am _truly ashamed_ that you would think so low of me to do this, Gandalf.” She hissed. “Do you think me a simpleton? A fool? Did you think I would somehow be convinced to go along on this adventure if only I met the company involved?” Bella didn't wait for an answer. She was building steam and wanted this all out before she lost her indignation. “I have a family, Gandalf. _My mother_ might have been quite content to go swanning off with you at the drop of a hat, but she had my father to look after things when she was gone! You know that I've not anyone to look after my children, but far-off relations, were I to leave. It would be truly irresponsible to simply go and abandon them—especially as I am _quite aware_ of what is waiting for those dwarrow at the end of their journey.” She glowered up at Gandalf, hoping that she was conveying the full force of her anger. “A dragon? How could you possibly expect me to go along with this? Has Longbottom leaf _truly addled your mind that greatly_?” Bella's voice rose to a shout. Her hands clenched in shaking fists. She had the strong urge to strike Gandalf, but she was so much smaller than him that it would hardly have any affect on him.

   “Bella,” Gandalf said, placating, and Bella allowed it only because she wasn't sure what to say next, “I only wished to give them some rest before their journey, after you turned me down. They've had quite a time of it these past weeks, coming to the Shire.”

   “And who sent them here?” Bella said peevishly. “You told them I was a burglar, Gandalf, a thief! I've never been so insulted in my life and my Aunt Tansy once told me that I must have rocks for brains for marrying . . .” she trailed off as she remembered that Kagin would be here any minute. “And Kagin, _Gandalf_?” She couldn't help how her voice nearly broke. The thought of her husband on his way, unaware of who she was or what he meant to her, hurt more than anything. “How could you not have told me earlier? When did you find him, eh? It must have been quite some time ago; Bofur says this venture has been in the works for nearly a year and I doubt you'd not have your hand in it before now. _How could you?_ ” She yelled. “ _How dare you_ keep this from me? You, who claim to be such a good friend of my mother's. How could you know who he was and not tell me? Do you have any idea what it's been like? Not knowing _what_ had happened? Dreading the worst, but not knowing if it were worse for him to have been dead or to live but have _left us_ of his own free will?” She had to stop there. Her throat closed against any more words as she lost her fight with her grief. Bella let out a harsh sob before she clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle any others.

   Gandalf's large hand landed on her shoulder. She shrugged it off, still mad.

   “I am truly sorry, my dear Belladonna.” Gandalf murmured. “I should have come to you the moment I realized who he was. I'm afraid I was trying to shield you from further hurt, once I discovered his lost memory, and it has only led to even more heartbreak for you. Can you forgive an old fool for his folly?” Bella took a shuddering breath and another and tried to regain her composure.

   “There wasn't anything to be done for him?” She asked with a trembling voice. “Nothing you could do?” If there was anyone in Middle Earth that could have given her hope, it would be Gandalf. Magic could work wonders, after all, on all sorts of things. Surely a wizard would be able to bring Kagin—no, Thorin's memories back?

   “I'm sorry, but the mind is a fickle thing.” Gandalf said gravely. “Even magic cannot fully undo such things. I'm afraid that only time and circumstance will be able to bring your husband back to you.” Bella nodded somberly.

   “I'm still upset with you, Gandalf.” She started scrubbing away the evidence of her tears. “About your keeping the news of Kagin from me as well as this whole adventure mess. It was very wrong of you to pull me into this, to lie to those dwarrow about me. Believe me when I say I won't be forgiving you for this for some time. But, oh, I am tired.” Bella pressed a hand to her forehead. She had a headache building and felt rather faint, but there wasn't any time for that right now. “I am so _tired_ and we still have the rest of the night and tomorrow to get to. _Why_ me, Gandalf? Why did you choose me for this?”

   Loud roars of approval and laughter from the dining room pierced the silence as Gandalf regarded her. After a long moment, he spoke.

   “I see something in you, Belladonna Baggins, that I have not often seen. I fear . . .” he paused and leaned heavier on the walking stick he'd yet to put away. “I fear that this quest will be either the greatest achievement of the line of Durin since the second founding of Erebor . . . or it will be their greatest defeat.” Did he think she was anyone important enough to have any influence on that? Gandalf must have been reading her mind because he continued on with, “They need you, Bella, though they do not realize it. And despite all your doubts, you need them too.” Bella opened her mouth to retort that she most definitely didn't need those dwarrow. Before she could say anything, there was a firm knock at the door and Bella's blood froze.

***

   The room was quiet enough for the next few minutes to hear Bella's raised voice in the parlor, but the dwarrow had enough sense to keep eating and pretend they couldn't hear. The tense air was broken when a large dog (or a small bear, Ori thought to himself) came bounding into the room, woofing softly. Those at the table that had no fond memories of wolves and wargs gave startled shouts at the intrusion. The dog stood chest high to a dwarf and had vicious teeth, but its tail wagged at the sight of them and its long, pink tongue lolled out of its mouth as it squeezed its large self under the table. Indignant shouting was heard as it pressed its nose into legs and feet, sniffing and whining as it went. Its tail thumped heavily against many a leg as it made its way down the table and came to a stop at Bifur. Its head popped out from under the table, between Bifur and Gloin, who looked quite disgruntled at the sudden invasion of his space.

   “Beren!” Bofur cried. “You naughty lass, you know you're not allowed at the table. Where'd you go?” He ducked under the table and started to crawl along, intent on removing the dog from the dining room. Bifur, who cared little for whether Beren was technically allowed at the table or not, plucked piece of lettuce from under a trio of fried fish and held it out for Beren to sniff. Oin gave a shout, nearly jumping out of his seat.

   “That's me, you idiot!” He kicked Bofur hard in the side. Bofur laughed and continued down the table.

   “Aha!” Came Bofur's victorious yell from below. Beren yelped and her head disappeared back under the table.

   Life returned to the party once again. Beren was relegated to the corner of the room, where she could do nothing but make eyes at them. Food started to fly from dwarf to dwarf. The nuts that had been cooked up with a spiral of spiced sausage were particularly popular, though Kili had gotten hold of a fruit bowl that had been passed around and had taken to tossing oranges at Balin when he wasn't looking, much to Balin's consternation. Ori, the sneaky little rascal, somehow came into possession of a small bowl of roasted pumpkin seeds. His targets were picked at random and he liked to bounce the seeds off platters, tankards, and even heads so as to keep all victims unaware of their assailant's identity. He laughed into his ale as Dwalin was hit with another seed, this one landing squarely in his beard.

   “Oi, watch where yer throwin'!” Nori yelled over the ruckus when a wayward carrot, launched by Bofur, hit his hair and stuck. Bofur was unapologetic.

   “Meant to hit Kili!” He shouted back. Nori made quite a rude hand gesture in return.

   “Ye git.” Nori picked the carrot out and flicked it across the table into Gloin's soup. “Ye couldn't hit a mountain if ye were standin' at its roots.” Bofur laughed heartily.

   “You wanna bet? Bombur, catch!” Without any other warning, Bofur tossed a hard boiled egg down the table. Bombur caught it in his mouth and the table erupted into roars of approval.

   Fili climbed onto the table not one second later and walked the length of it, bent double to avoid hitting his head on the chandelier.

   “Who wants an ale?” He called over the din. He nearly stepped in Kili's plate and got a firm smack on the leg for it. As Fili made to sit down, the party was silenced by a loud knock at the door.

   Bella stood stock still in the parlor, staring at the door beyond. That—that had to be him. Her stomach twisted and churned. She couldn't do this. She couldn't answer that door, not when she knew who it would be on the other side. Bella couldn't—She could and she would! Bella would not let herself be cowed in her own home. She would answer that door and face the dwarf on the other side and she would do it with a strong heart and steady hands. With that thought in mind, Bella stomped over to the door and threw it open with a sharp tug.

   The dwarf standing on Bag End's front step was not Kagin. Despite the years, she could still recognize him; dwarrow aged so much slower than hobbits after all. The added silver in his hair as well as the deepening of his laugh and frown lines did little to change his appearance. No, it was his bearing that was all wrong. Where Kagin had been soft, warm, and cheerful, this dwarf had a hard, regal, imposing air that made Bella feel about an inch tall as he turned to stare down his nose at her. It hurt more than Bella was willing to admit to have him look at her as though she were a stranger. Bella gasped sharply. All right, she'd lied. She couldn't do this.

   “Ah, Thorin,” Gandalf said as he moved into the front hall. “So glad to see you could join us before dinner was over.” Thorin gave Gandalf a sharp look as he stepped into Bag End without so much as a by your leave. Bella's tongue was lead in her mouth, her feet were stone, and she watched him put his things up as though from a very great distance.

   “I almost got lost, but found my way before long.” Bella closed her eyes against the pain welling in her chest. It wasn't him. It _wasn't him_. She opened her eyes to see him staring curiously at her.

   “Where's your husband, ma'am? I'd like to speak to him.” Again, that question. Bella glared up at Gandalf. What in Arda had he been telling them?

   “Ah, yes, about that.” Gandalf butt in before Bella could start yelling again. “I'm afraid there was a bit of a misunderstanding.” Bella snorted. Gandalf never had misunderstandings. “The hobbit I recommended for your company is Bella here.” He put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a little push forward. Bile rose in Bella's throat at the derisive look Thorin gave her.

   “Indeed?” He gave her a sharp, assessing look and she felt as though she was failing to measure up in his eyes. The thought was devastating, even as she told herself _again_ that this wasn't Kagin. “What is your weapon of choice, Mistress Baggins? Sword or axe?” Bella pursed her lips at Thorin's condescending tone.

   “Cast iron frying pan,” she said peevishly, remembering a time she'd broken Kagin's nose with one. It took all her courage, but Bella leveled Thorin with an unimpressed stare. She would not be spoken to like this in her home, no matter who was doing the speaking. “Or wooden spoon, should all else fail.” Wooden spoon indeed. Bella was sorely tempted to break out her biggest spatula and smack Thorin across the face with it. What business did he have staring at her like he was?

   “Thought as much.” Thorin said as he came to stand in front of her again. “This hobbit of yours looks more like a barmaid than a burglar, Gandalf.” Oh, that was it!

   Bella stuck out and punched Thorin as hard as she could manage. In the next heartbeat, she held her hand gingerly to her chest, having forgotten how much it hurt to punch a dwarf. The stories didn't lie when they claimed the dwarrow had been carved from stone. Her hand stung sharply and she thought she might have broken a finger, but it was well worth the shock on Thorin's face.

   “I refuse to be spoken to like this in my own home. The rest of your company are down the hall in the dining room. You may join them if you wish. I,” she turned to Gandalf, unwilling to face this imposter any longer, “will be in my room, should any of you need me. Goodnight, gentlemen!” And with that, Bella spun on her heel and stalked down the hall, heading for her room. She told herself that the tears in her eyes were because of her throbbing fingers.

***

   Bella had stormed out of the front hall with every intention of holing away in her room for the rest of the night, nursing her hurt pride and her already bruising fingers. She was going to too, but was stopped in the hall by the sight of Bryony staring wide-eyed down the corridor, toward Thorin as he made his way into the dining room. Her face was white as a sheet and she gripped her robe's belt with tight fingers. She shook from curly head to hairy toe and Bella felt like an idiot for forgetting that, of all her children, Bryony had yet to receive the news of her father's return.

   “Bryony, darling,” she said as she rushed toward her. Bryony shook her head, gaze never wavering from the doorway into which Thorin had disappeared.

   “ _'Amad_ ,” Bryony croaked.

   “Bryony, not here.” Bella took her by the hand and led her around the corner, out of sight. “Bryony, oh, sweetheart, I'm _so sorry_. I forgot to tell you.” Bryony only shook her head again.

   “What's happened, _'amad_?” She asked frantically, grabbing at Bella's sleeves. She looked desperately up at her mother and Bella wished she bore better news. “That was _'adad_! He's come back!” Bella opened her mouth, but said nothing. She'd had a hard enough time of it earlier, telling the others of Thorin and Kagin and how their father was here but wasn't himself. She'd hated herself for breaking their hearts that way and here she was, about to do it again. “What's wrong?” Bryony pulled out of Bella's loose grip with a frown. “ _'Adad_ came back. _He's back!_ He's come back, hasn't he?”

   “No,” Bella said softly, “he hasn't.” Bryony closed her eyes as if to shut out the world. “I'm so sorry, love, but something's happened and he—Bofur says he doesn't remember us. He might never.” Bryony squeezed her eyes even tighter, her face screwed up against Bella's words.

   “But he's _back_.” She whimpered. “He came back. _Why?_ Why would he come back if he didn't remember? _Why is he back?_ ” She was crying in earnest now, sobbing nearly hysterically. Bella looked up the hall to make sure their conversation wasn't overheard. Noise was still coming from the dining room. Bella doubted any of the dwarrow noticed her absence. She carefully took Bryony into her arms, ignoring when her daughter thrashed against her hold, nearly screeching in her sorrow. “No, _no_. He's back! _Please_ , _'amad_ , say he's back!” Bella's eyes swam with tears. Oh, she couldn't do this anymore.

   Bella brought Bryony to her room and was only a little surprised to find Birla was still awake. She was curled on her side, staring dejectedly at the door. Bella gave her a sad smile as she steered Bryony over to her own bed.

   “He's here, isn't he?” Birla was so quiet, Bella almost didn't hear over Bryony's crying.

   “Yes, he's just gotten here.” She answered. Birla responded by pulling her covers over her head and curling into a tighter ball. “Are the others up?” Bundle-Birla made an affirmative noise.

   “Last I heard.” Her voice came muffled from under her blankets. “They keep talking when they think no one will hear.” Bella sighed. She supposed it had been too much to expect the children to get any sleep tonight.

   Bryony went to bed with little prompting, her appetite lost. Bella sat with her and held her as she cried. She cried too, but not as earnestly. Bryony had always had a soft heart; it was one of the reasons she was going to be a healer. When she grieved, it was with all her being and there was little to be done but to hold her tight and wait it out.

   Bryony was still crying quietly into her pillow when there was a soft knock at the door. Bella bid them enter and Bofur cautiously peered in.

   “Thought I saw you run past.” He said quietly. Bella nodded and looked down at Bryony. Poor thing, she'd be quite upset about this for a while. Bella brushed Bryony's hair out of her face with gentle hands.

   “He's so different.” She finally said, when the silence had stretched to a breaking point. “I know what you said, about him being so different. But this—I—he's not Kagin at all.” Bella's voice broke and she started to cry anew. Her fingers still throbbed from where she'd punched Thorin. Her heart ached with the pain of having seen Kagin again after all these years, but not truly having him back. She felt a fool for being so disappointed, for being hurt that he didn't recognize her.

   “Oh, there now.” Bofur quickly crossed the room to take her into his arms in a comforting hug. Bella didn't allow herself to cry for long. She stayed in Bofur's arms just long enough to compose herself again, then pulled away.

   “I just feel like such a fool.” She said wetly as she wiped at her face. “I wasn't expecting him to be anything like Kagin, but I still—oh, I don't know what I was thinking!”

   “Nothin' wrong with that!” Bofur clapped a hand to her shoulder. “There's no rules about things like this, Bella. No one expects ye to know what t' think, seein' 'im again like this. Yer doin' just fine.” Bella smiled up at him.

   “I certainly don't think so, but thank you.” She murmured. Bofur squeezed her shoulder once before letting go.

   “Ye ready t' go back out? Only, dinner's gonna be finished soon an' then we'll be talkin' about the quest. If ye want to hear, that is.” He peered closely at her while she thought it over.

   Bella truly didn't want to go back out there. She didn't want to face her guests, explain away the bruises on her hand (Thorin didn't seem the type to admit he'd been punched by such a soft person) and the tears in her eyes. She didn't want to look Thorin in the eye and know who he was and who he wasn't. Dishes needed doing, their sleeping arrangements had yet to be set up, and Bella knew she'd have to do some planning for tomorrow morning's breakfast. Bella didn't want to do any of it. She wanted to set the fingers that she was now sure were broken, have a warm cup of milk, and curl up in bed with what was left of her sanity before something else came up. For one moment, she wanted to not be a Baggins, to allow herself to be a coward and hide until this whole thing had blown over. She was entitled to one day spent with her head in the sand, wasn't she? After everything she'd been through over the years, wasn't she allowed to hide away from this one hurt?

   “I'll be out in a moment, Bofur.” She finally said. She looked back at Bryony, who was still wetting her pillow with bitter tears, and then to Birla where she was cocooned in her blankets. “I'll . . . just give me a minute to clear my head and I'll be there.” Bofur offered her a reassuring smile before he went back to the party, leaving Bella alone with her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with how this chapter turned out. It seems a little off to me, but I can't figure out how. Hope you guys enjoyed it anyway! Thanks for all the comments and kudos, you're the best!


	6. Chapter 6

**9 May 1317 (Shire Reckoning)**

   Even with her plans to visit as soon as possible, it was still another few days before Bella had any time to see the dwarf. Every time she thought to herself that it was time she stopped by the Green Dragon to say hello, something would come up and it flew from her mind. Family and friends came for tea or just to say hello. Holman needed help in the garden or her advice on something on the property that needed dealing with. Bella had to call Violet to make sure that Belladonna's cough (which was still hanging doggedly on) wasn't serious.

   Bella eventually pulled herself away for a trip down the lane to the Green Dragon. He probably wouldn't want to see her if she spent much more time away. After all, what kind of friend could she call herself when she went a month without so much as a note to say hello? Bella worried that he'd be upset with her absence, but quickly put that out of her mind. He'd been busy, just as she had. And anyway, it wasn't as if they were best of friends. Either way, it had been far too long since she'd been to see him. So, one day, she declined all invitations to tea and made sure that Belladonna wasn't in need of anything at the moment. She tucked a jar of cherry preserves from the last summer under her arm, bid Belladonna farewell, and set off down the lane toward town.

   The Green Dragon was bustling with activity when Bella arrived around tea time. She lingered in the doorway and flagged down Dipelta, hoping that the dwarf was in. She'd heard that he was smithing, perhaps she'd have been better off looking for him at the smithy? Dipelta finally came over to see what she needed.

   “Is the dwarf in?” Bella asked. “I've got some things that need doing around the smial.” Dipelta frowned for a moment before her expression cleared in understanding.

   “Oh, Kagin! He's up at the forge this time o' day.” She explained. Kag—what?

   “Oi, Dipelta! Come bring that ale over, would ye?” A hobbit called from the far end of the room. Before Bella could ask who Kagin was, Dipelta had given her a smile and run off to see to her customer's needs.

   Kagin. Kagin. Kagin? Who was Kagin? She'd asked after—oh! He'd picked a name! How wonderful! At least Bella could count on something to talk about when she saw him.

   She worried over her reception as she made her way out of town, toward the forge. Would he be happy to see her? She certainly hoped so. They hadn't seen each other in quite some time; her absence had been sudden and without much explanation other than her note. Bella didn't know how dwarves handled friendships and had worried more than once in the past few days just how he'd react to seeing her again. She . . . Bella hoped he still wanted to call her a friend. True, they weren't what she'd normally call friends. They didn't know each other very well, but that hadn't stopped Bella before. Honestly, she was uncertain of his willingness to call her friend. Time apart had killed stronger relationships, after all. Maybe his cordiality had waned; maybe he had grown tired of waiting for her to visit again and given up on being friends with her. Anxiety gnawed at her stomach. _She_ wanted them to be friends. He was a gentle sort, with kind eyes and a laugh that made her heart flutter with joy. Bella honestly enjoyed spending time around him, no matter how awkward their first meeting had been. She hoped that, despite their time apart, he would be happy to see her again.

   Bella took her time walking over to the forge. The beautiful weather was an excuse to drag her feet and delay her arrival as long as possible. Had it been any other day, she might have truly been enjoying it, but, as it was, she was too anxious to give much thought to the puffy clouds scooting lazily across the sky or the birdsong that followed her as she meandered down the lane.

   When she came close enough to the forge, Bella could see smoke rising in its direction. She continued down a small path that hadn't seen much use in recent years, picking her way through the weeds that had sprung up, determined, out of the hard-packed earth. She rounded a low hill and there was the forge in all its rickety glory

   Bella was sure that at one time, the forge hadn't looked quite so pathetic and ill-kept. It must have been newly built at some point, but that was a long time ago. It now stood, slightly crooked, with entire slats missing from its siding. The roof was patched over in multiple places (Bella suspected that was a new development) and there were large patches of weeds growing through the holes in the walls. The chimney that perched precariously on the roof was spouting out smoke at a steady rate. Bella could hear from this distance the sound of a hammer striking an anvil.

   Bella approached with only a hint of trepidation. She was prepared with a list of things that needed doing around Bag End as an excuse for her presence here. If he wasn't interested in furthering their friendship, she would look like a fool, showing up for no reason.

   The smithy's doors were wide open, allowing her a clear view inside. The air was heavy with harsh heat that radiated from the forge in the center of the building. It stank of hot metal, burnt water, and fire. The smell of it burned Bella's nose. She wriggled her nose to keep from sneezing. She could see through to where Kagin was working. He was turned away from her, hammering something against an anvil. His hair was tied back in a messy bun, keeping it out of the way as he worked, and he'd sweat right through his shirt. It clung to his back. Bella's gaze drifted from his strong, broad shoulders to the smooth muscles of his back and looked quickly away, cheeks warming. She was here to talk to him, for Yavanna's sake, not ogle him! With that thought in mind, Bella found the nearest piece of wall and knocked as loudly as she could.

   Kagin startled, missed the anvil, and narrowly avoided hitting himself with his hammer. Bella stared, wide-eyed, caught between laughing and apologizing. The laughing won. Kagin gawked at her as she doubled over, clutching her stomach as she laughed harder than she had in years. She didn't know why she was laughing so much, just that now she'd started, she couldn't stop.

   “Miss Baggins,” his address made her laughter begin anew, just when she'd thought she was done. Bella shook her head as she tried desperately to catch her breath. Kagin fixed her with a sour look. It only made her laugh harder. “ _Miss Baggins_ ,” he said firmly. Bella howled with laughter. She meant to lean against the doorway, but it was quite a few feet farther than she'd thought it was. She went sprawling on the ground.

   “ _Oof!_ ” All her breath came out at once as she hit the ground. Kagin's eyebrows nearly reached his forehead. His mouth fell open in surprise.

   They stared at each other for a long moment before it was broken by Kagin. A deep rumbling chuckle built in his chest. Bella watched, astounded, as a wide grin split his face and he laughed loud and hard. Bella giggled from the shock of it all. This wasn't how she'd expected things to go.

   “Can I help you with something, Miss Baggins?” Kagin asked after a time, when they'd both calmed down. Bella scrambled to her feet and dusted off her skirts.

   “Well, er, yes. I, uh, I brought some—some preserves . . .” she trailed off uncertainly. Where had that jar gone? She'd lost track of it with all the amusement. “Don't know where they went.” She muttered to herself as she spun on the spot.

   “Preserves?” Kagin was watching her antics with mild concern, no doubt for her mental state.

   “Um, cherry preserves,” Bella wondered if she'd dropped them outside? She shuffled toward the door, but Kagin took her arm before she could get too far.

   “Miss Baggins,” he said softly. Bella glanced down at the hand on her arm, startled, then up at Kagin. He was rather close . . . “What are you doing here?” Bella was sure she was supposed to say something then, but she was rather preoccupied with the feel of Kagin's hand on her arm. He was so large (Mr. Birchby had called him a brute) but he held her with a gentle touch that belied his stern and intimidating appearance.

   Kagin held her gaze for a moment before dropping to her arm. He blinked hard at the sight of his hand on her, as if just realizing what he'd done. His hand dropped to his side. Bella wished it hadn't. They regarded each other for a long moment before Bella remembered that Kagin had asked her a question.

   “I came to say hello.” She said breathlessly. Kagin's brow twitched. For a half second, he looked as though he might say something, but the moment passed. Did he—did he not want to see her? The thought stung. She'd thought they'd been getting along all right. She decided to go on, either way. “I heard from Mr. Birchby that you got the forge up and running and I thought—well, I thought I'd see how you were doing and then I was wondering if you'd be willing to do some work up at Bag End. I was hoping you'd also be able to take a look at some of the work we had done on the bathtub? Only, it's been springing leaks more than usual lately.” Kagin nodded after a moment of confused silence.

   “I'm doing very well, Miss Baggins.” He finally said. “As you can see, I've gotten this up and running,” he looked around the forge as though fearing it was about to come down on their heads. “And, I picked a name.” Bella smiled softly, even as she started to wish they were talking outside. Despite the holes in the walls, the air inside the forge was sweltering and sweat was beginning to dampen Bella's hairline.

   “Yes, I heard, Master Kagin.” She teased. He rewarded her with a gentle grin. “However did you choose that name? Where did you find it?” Kagin shrugged.

   “That book you gave me.” He reached up to push his sweat-slick hair out of his face. Bella couldn't help but watch the move. How could he stand to work in here? She wasn't even moving about and she was already wanting to sit and have a cool drink of water. Dwarves must be made of sturdy stuff indeed to work in such heat! “I found a tale about a rather unfortunate fellow who slayed an orc army through pure luck and was made king for his trouble.” Kagin chuckled to himself. “I thought I could use as much luck myself.” Bella nodded along, even as she had to drag her gaze away from the skin peeking out of his open shirt. He must be awfully hot; his skin glistened with sweat and his hair stuck to his neck and face despite his attempts to keep it back.

   “Yes,” she said absently, still trying not to stare. What was she thinking? She'd seen men working before! Of course, all of them had been hobbits, but there wasn't very much difference between a farmhand laboring under the sun and Kagin working his forge, when it came down to it. Bella shook herself and reapplied her attention to the topic at hand. “Yes, of course, everyone could use luck like that!” She fixed a smile on her face and hoped she didn't seem as flustered as she felt. “And it's a good name.”

   An awkward silence fell. Bella wondered how long she had until she melted into a puddle of hobbit goo. It was so dreadfully hot in here . . . She pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and wiped away the sweat that was starting to run down her temples and into her hair. Kagin watched this with a small frown.

   “I really must get back to my work, Miss Baggins.” He said and looked back at the project he'd abandoned when she had come in. “Metal doesn't like to be left alone for long. I can come up and take a look at your pipes. Is tomorrow all right?” Tomorrow what?

   “Oh, yes!” Honestly, was the heat affecting her so badly? “Yes, yes, I'll, er—Tomorrow is just fine.” Kagin nodded decisively.

   “I'll stop by after breakfast to have a look.” He said, then he moved toward the anvil again.

   “I'll see you then!” She called. He waved absently over his shoulder, already transfixed with his work.

   Bella cast around for something else to say and only happened upon the preserves she'd dropped. The jar was still intact, thank the Valar. Bella looked from the jar, over to Kagin, and back again. He had picked up whatever it was he was working on and was turning it over in his hands. Bella felt inordinately happy. She put the jar on the nearest shelf, where Kagin would see it on his way out, and left practically skipping. Things had gone much better than she'd thought they would.

***

   Belladonna allowed Bella a good twenty minutes' peace when she returned home before pouncing like a cat on an injured bird.

   “So, the master dwarf is coming tomorrow?” Bella should have caught the sly tone, but it had been so long since Belladonna had been up to her old tricks that she'd forgotten to listen for it.

   “Master Kagin, yes,” Bella answered. “He's due after breakfast.”

   “Hmm.” All was silent for a moment and then, “What does he look like? Is he handsome?” Belladonna asked with an interest that Bella hadn't seen in quite some time. Bella's ears warmed.

   “Mother!” She hissed. Belladonna smiled softly over at her and continued sipping her tea as though she'd said nothing noteworthy.

   They were sitting together in the parlor. Belladonna was reading through an old cookbook, making notes in the margins as she went. Bella was still working on embroidering the border of her new shawl. She was making a lazy daisy stitch around the edges and a floral pattern in the corners. Her stitch came out wonky when Belladonna started asking about Kagin.

   “What?” Belladonna was smirking down at her cookbook. Bella scowled over at her. “I can't ask what a new friend of yours looks like?”

   “We're not friends!” She yelped. Belladonna pursed her lips, but didn't look up from her work. “Well, not yet anyway. I mean . . . _I_ see him as a friend. I don't know _what_ he thinks. I'm not sure if we know each other well enough to call each other friends. I don't know how quickly dwarves—dwarrow go into such things.” Belladonna's eyebrow started to rise. Bella knew that look. Oh, how she hated that dubious look. “Momma! We only knew each other a couple weeks before—before I had to stop going.” She stumbled over the words, unwilling to bring up Belladonna's episode, lest it return with a vengeance. “Hardly enough time to call him anything other than a good acquaintance.” She muttered to herself and tried to believe it was true. She didn't want to be disappointed; she was beginning to think she liked Kagin too much to be anything but sorely hurt if he didn't want to be friends.

   “I've made friends in less time than that.” Belladonna quipped. She made a flourishing gesture with her quill and set the book aside to dry. “Well?”

   “'Well' what?” Bella asked her embroidery. She could almost hear Belladonna's answering eye roll.

   “'Well' what _does_ he look like, if he's not handsome?”

   “Oh, _Mother_!” She threw her embroidery down. Belladonna's chuckles followed her down the hall.

***

   Kagin woke the next day with nerves and excitement turning his stomach to lead and his knees to jelly. He tried to tell himself that it was because he was eager to start on this new job, but that was a bald-faced lie.

   He had been disappointed when Bella had stopped visiting. She'd been one thing he could look forward to as he recovered and got his bearings and then, suddenly, she was gone as quickly as she'd come into his life. Her note had promised a speedy return to their usual visits, but the days had dragged into nearly a week and still Bella hadn't come. He had tried not to be disappointed, but had failed miserably. Even after he had gotten the forge started working, started taking on commissions, he still thought of the sweet hobbit lass that had taken him under her wing and wondered what was keeping her away.

   He'd thought often on their last conversation; perhaps he had done something to offend her. There were so many customs these hobbits observed, he wouldn't have been surprised if he had accidentally said the wrong thing and driven her off. Despite not knowing himself half as well as he should, Kagin knew he could be rather awkward at times. Had Bella tired of his company and simply sent the note rather than explain things in person? Before he'd been able to wonder too much, however, the gossip had started.

   It had started with whispers and worried glances at market toward the Hill. Kagin had ignored it until he caught the name Baggins being murmured between the cheesemaker and a customer while Kagin browsed for a strong cheddar for his supper.

   “Mrs. Baggins's at it again all right.” The cheesemaker, a portly woman with flyaway blond curls, had said quietly as she wrapped the purchase in paper. “Young Master Greenhand 'asn't seen neither mother nor daughter outta the smial in nigh on a fortnight!” Both women had clucked their tongues. Kagin had looked up toward the Hill, frowning. “You shouldn't expect Miss Bella 'round with a basket any time soon, Rowen, you know how things get when Mrs. Baggins is havin' one of her moods.” Her companion had nodded sagely.

   “It's not right what she does to that child, leavin' her to care for business on 'er own.” They had clucked again, reminding Kagin of the chickens that lived behind the inn, and moved onto other topics.

   Kagin had only had to ask a few subtle questions to learn that Mrs. Baggins was not well at all. Bella had mentioned, once, that her mother had taken her father's death very hard, but Kagin hadn't known this included days, sometimes weeks of dark moods that kept them both locked up in Bag End while Mrs. Baggins sunk into despair. He wasn't sure, even now after seeing Bella for the first time in a month, if the gossips were exaggerating the state of things up at Bag End or not. The good people of Hobbiton had a love for all things dramatic and he'd seen small things get blown out of proportion by curious musings that were taken as fact.

   Either way, he had been worried for Bella. Kagin felt sure that, should her absence have lasted a few days longer, he would have gone to see her, regardless of the tongues that would be sent wagging. Bella, however, had come to him before he'd been able to make up his mind whether it was worth it or not to risk offending her by coming by unexpectedly.

   Kagin thought back on their conversation with a smile. He had had to work hard to keep from seeming too happy to see her again, but in the moment that he had turned to see her standing in the door of the forge, Kagin had suddenly realized just how much he'd missed Bella in the past weeks. He could have done without the riotous laughing at whatever it was that had set her off, but seeing her whole self light up with cheer had lifted his mood. They had easily returned to their previous cordiality. Kagin was glad to talk to her again, though he'd had to cut their conversation short when he remembered that he had a time-sensitive piece cooling on the anvil. He had returned to work with a light heart and a smile on his face. It was much later, when Kagin was closing up for the day, that he discovered the jar of preserves that Bella had lost during her laughing fit. He'd tucked them under his arm with a small smile and felt silly for his worries that Bella had grown bored of him.

   It was with that in mind that Kagin set out for Bag End after a quick breakfast in the Green Dragon's dining room. Dipelta yelled after him to slow down when he bolted from the table before he'd finished chewing, but he continued swiftly on his way with no intention of slowing down. He had his satchel, packed with everything he would need for the first day of a job, and he was eager to get to Bag End. He was eager to see Bella again.

   Kagin had hardly rung the doorbell at Bag End when there came a mighty crash from inside. Muffled voices shouted back and forth, coming closer to the door. Kagin was sorely tempted to peer in through the window next to the door. Before he could move, the door was thrown open and a hobbit woman stood in front of him, trying to catch her breath.

   “You must be Master Kagin.” She huffed as she leaned heavily on the door. Graying black hair fell in her eyes and she pushed it away as another crash came from inside the smial. “Nice to meet you.”

   “Mother!” Bella screeched down the hall. She came running up to the doorway, her entire face flushed all the way up to her pointy ears. “Mother, I told you I'd get the door. I don't want you saying anything—Hello, Kagin!” She saw him at the door and was instantly cheerful, though rather out of breath.

   “'Morning,” he nodded to her. What didn't she want her mother to say?

   “The bathroom's this way!” Bella all but yelled. She ushered Kagin into Bag End and left Mrs. Baggins chuckling on the doorstep.

   “Honestly, Bella, you'd think you were afraid to leave me alone with him.” Belladonna's tone was so mischievous that Kagin was mildly concerned about being left alone with her himself. Bella grumbled about meddling mothers as she waved Kagin toward the bathroom. Kagin bit back a laugh.

   Bag End was a lovely home. Warm wood paneled the walls and glowed in the light streaming in through the door and windows. The tiles under his feet were well-worn and smooth after years of traffic. The house had an air of comfortable clutter. Books, papers, quills, ribbons, and small trinkets were strewn in neat piles about the parlor that Kagin passed on his way to the bathroom. Flowers stood proudly in vases on every available surface and portraits and framed embroidery hung on the walls. Yes, it was a very nice home.

   “Yes, it's just in here.” Bella opened the bathroom door and indicated toward the large tub that sat to the one side. Towels were strewn about it in various states of dampness and the hamper in the corner was full of wet rags that had already seen battle. “It sprang a leak just this morning and we haven't been able to get it to stop.” She started to gather up the towels that had mopped up as much as they could. “Already mopped twice.” She muttered to herself.

   “I'll take a look and see what needs doing.” Kagin said. He put his things next to the sink, out of the line of fire as Bella moved dripping towels and rags to a laundry basket in the corner. “It could be a faulty valve or . . .” he crouched next to the tub. “It could be that you need a new pipe.”

   The plumbing in Bag End was top of the line and reflected the care that had been put into the building of the smial. It took Kagin a minute to locate the source of the problem; a pipe had cracked during what must have been a harsh winter and had been leaking ever since. Rust had weakened the pipe, which was largely out of sight, and it must have burst this morning. Kagin spent the better part of an hour working out how to get the section of pipe removed without damaging the wall around it. It was short work after that. All he needed to do, after getting the pipe out, was to make a new one as best he could. Kagin knew how to make pipes, though he had yet to do so as far as he could remember. He wondered, as he carefully looked the other pipes over for signs of rust, if he'd been in the plumbing business before his accident.

   “How goes it?” Bella's question was unexpected, but Kagin stifled the jump that would have had him hitting his head on the edge of the tub.

   “It goes.” He picked at a piece of what felt like rust on a pipe farther down toward the floor, but it turned out to be some sort of soap that smelled faintly of sandalwood. “Your pipe was rusted through, Miss Baggins. It was only a matter of time until it burst.” Bella sighed.

   “Suppose it's a good thing it waited 'til after a smith came into town.” She quipped. Kagin snorted.

   “Yes, a good thing indeed.” He wished he could see the rest of the plumbing, but that would involve taking the floor up and he'd rather not unless it was absolutely necessary.

   He carefully extracted himself from behind the tub. Bella was sorting through the few dry towels left and only looked up when Kagin spoke. “I'll have a replacement by the end of the week. Until then, I'm afraid you'll be without your tub.” Bella grimaced, but only for a moment.

   “Oh, that's fine.” She went around him to poke at the towels that were sitting damp on the floor. “We'll be just fine . . .” Bella crouched and started picking up the rags and towels that were too wet to be of any further use. When she'd gathered them all into the hamper, she hoisted the basket up onto her hip and started for the door. “These are destined for the clothesline. Mother's made you some scones for your trouble.” She turned in the doorway to look back at him as he lingered by the tub. “I hope you like blueberries.”

   Kagin watched her go with a smile that hurt his cheeks. He had a feeling that, if it made her happy, he would gladly eat nothing but blueberries until the end of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took so long to update! I've had all kinds of stuff happening lately and I discovered, as I wrote this, that I'm crap at writing romance. Who knew? Anyway, I'm really sorry about the long wait! I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. Thanks again for all the kudos and reviews! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**27 April 1341 (Shire Reckoning)**

   The dwarrow were settled in and munching happily on their dinner when Bella slunk into the dining room. What had things come to, she thought, that she'd been reduced to skulking around like this in her own home? She scowled at the thought as she skirted around the chairs that had been pushed out and made for the ale on the other end of the room. Before she did anything else, she needed a good strong drink and that aged stuff in the far corner was the strongest in Bag End. Bungo had always said that courage didn't come from a bottle, but Bella was sure he'd never been in a situation like this.

   Drink in hand, Bella crept around the table again. Her eyes were fixed on Bifur this time. He always traveled with a small kit of salves for bruises and she was all out of anything that would soothe the ache in her fingers. It had been quite some time since she'd decked anyone and Bella had forgotten how badly it could go when your opponent had bones of stone and metal. Bella wasn't sure if she was more frustrated with herself for losing her temper, or with Thorin for causing her to lose it. Coming up behind him, Bella cautiously tapped Bifur on the shoulder. He was in a good mood tonight (he'd been munching happily on her centerpiece last she'd seen) but there was no telling when that would change and she wasn't about to risk a knife to her throat because she'd been foolish enough to come up behind him.

   “Do you have any salve?” She whispered to Bifur when he turned to see what she wanted. “I'm afraid I broke some fingers.” Bella held her bruised fingers as evidence. Bifur took her hand gently in his and nodded.

   It was short work to steal away into the bathroom (goodness, they'd made quite a mess of things in there) and get her fingers slathered in paste and bandaged. They still throbbed pointedly, but there was nothing else to be done. Bella did her best to tidy the bathroom before rejoining the party in the dining room. What a mess!

   “Excuse me, ma'am.” One of the dwarrow stopped her in the hall on her way to check dinner's progress. “What do I do with my plate?” Bella thought that surely he was too young for this quest; he had to be barely of age and the purple ribbons in his braids and his large brown eyes made him seem even younger. She was so taken aback by his youth that she entirely forgot that he'd asked her a question. Before Bella could gather her thoughts, the blond dwarf that looked so much like Kagin spoke.

   “Here, give it to me, Ori.” Fili (Bella gave herself a pat of the back for remembering) took the other dwarf's plate and tossed it down the hall to his brother, who was standing in the kitchen entryway. Had that been anything but her every day pottery, Bella was sure she would have either yelled or fainted away at the sight. Every day pottery or no, she was glad to see they were being careful, though it didn't look it.

   Plates and bowls started to fly through the air. The young ones caught and tossed them with practiced ease. Bella's heart raced watching it, but the thrill was welcome. It distracted her from the dwarf sitting nearest to her, at the end of the table, and from the pain in her hand. A rhythmic tapping started up in the dining room. Bella looked in curiously and was greeted with the sight of the company banging their forks and knives on the table and against each other's silverware. Bofur caught her eye and flashed a mischievous smile. What was he up to?

   “Careful with those knives, Bofur,” she called over the din. “You lot are all staying in the Shire 'til they're fixed if you blunt them.” Bofur shot her a truly wicked look.

   “Hear that, lads? She says we'll blunt the knives!”

   If Bella didn't know dwarrow so well, she'd have been quite offended for sure at the following song. They crowed about breaking dishes, bending forks, trailing fat and spilling soup, all the things she was sure to hate. They tossed her pottery, sent knives and forks sailing. Bella stood to the side and watched with a beaming smile, her foot tapping along to the beat, as Bombur sat at the head of the table and cleaned each plate of its food. Beren was not so calm. She clambered from where she'd almost been sleeping in the corner and whined loudly as her nose followed the dishes through the air. Her tail shook so hard in her excitement that her back legs moved with it as well. Still, not one thing was dropped. They were carefully tossed into the kitchen and, when the song came to an end with a raucous shout of “that's what Bella Baggins hates!” they sat, whole and hale, on the kitchen table, waiting to be washed. Bella laughed at the sight.

   “Oh, you rascals!” She found the nearest arm and gave it a firm smack. “Bofur, you'll give me gray hair before the children do.” Bofur just chuckled merrily. Bella shook her head. “Honestly, you're all lucky that wasn't my best pottery. Come help me fetch dessert, you scoundrel.” She scurried off toward the second pantry, where she'd hidden the pies, cakes, and biscuits she'd made for dessert from sticky faunt fingers. Bofur followed with a hearty laugh and a spring in his step.

***

   Thorin didn't feel at all ashamed to say that he was sorely disappointed by the burglar Gandalf had found for them. In fact, he would tell anyone who asked just that, though no one did. This Mistress Baggins was hardly burglar material. She was soft from the top of her curly head to the bottoms of her hairy feet, all rounded, full curves in between. Her clothes were of fine, rich material and good craftsmanship. Her home was warm and comfortable. She and her home both were the sort that had never seen hardship or grief. Her answer to his question had only reinforced this opinion. Frying pan indeed. No, Thorin had taken one look around the place and known that this was no home for anyone that would be of use on their journey. Then Mistress Baggins had punched him.

   It hadn't hurt much. Hobbits were soft creatures and Mistress Baggins's fist had done little to harm him. Still, it had been a surprise. It had been quite a long time since anyone had thrown a punch at him outside of a sparring match. He stood there like a halfwit as Mistress Baggins shouted at him and then stormed off into her house.

   “'Barmaid',” Gandalf grumbled, breaking Thorin from his stupor. He shook himself sharply. Calling her a barmaid had been wrong; it simply had been the first word to come to mind. Housewife or nursemaid seemed more fitting now that he thought about it, but either way, he would stand by what he'd said. Mistress Baggins was not in any way a burglar. If ever Balin heard what he'd said, however, Thorin had no doubt he'd be strong armed into apologizing to her. He shed his cloak and weapons and started toward the noise down the hall. “With all your tact, Thorin Oakenshield, it is any wonder you've allies left at all!” Thorin felt a commendation was in order for his ignoring that comment.

   “Thorin!” Dwalin's roar came over cheers for more ale as Fili descended from his perch on the end of the table. “Sit down before the food's gone!” He motioned toward the empty seat at the head of the table.

   Despite the party that was already well underway, the table held a marvelous spread that made Thorin's mouth water after two weeks on the road with nothing to eat but dried meat and cram. He grabbed at the nearest dish and ladled a thick stew into the bowl in front of him. It smelled heavenly. Thorin took an offered roll and started in on his food. Mahal, it was amazing. Thorin waved away all talk of business, refusing to even think of the failure he'd faced with the delegates until after dinner was finished.

   It was good to see his kin enjoying this one last night of revelry before they set out on their quest. Who knew when they would next be able to eat so well or with so little care given to their surroundings. The road would be hard, no doubt, and they would have no time to truly rest like this until they had retaken Erebor. Let them have this, Thorin thought to himself as he ate. Let them have this night of song and cheer before they left for Erebor.

   And quite a night of cheer it turned out to be. Ale and talk flowed in abundance and left Thorin more relaxed than he'd been in quite some time. He chuckled as he watched his nephews and Ori compete to see who could land more bits of food in Oin's trumpet before he noticed. Nori was entertaining as he surreptitiously slipped silverware into his pockets when he thought no one could see. Dwalin, Bofur, and Gloin were in a silent drinking competition, downing tankard after tankard while staring angrily between themselves, daring each other to continue on. Thorin watched with a small smile as Gloin slammed his tankard on the table, empty to the last drop. Gloin's cheeks were turning an amusing shade of pink that usually heralded his soon-to-be-residence under the table. Thorin signaled Balin to cut off the ale until the party had sobered up a bit. No need to be on the road with aching heads tomorrow.

   Mistress Baggins snuck carefully into the fray quite some time later, cradling her hand to her chest. Thorin was sure he would have missed her entirely had she not stopped to talk to Bifur, head down and voice low. Thorin watched, curious, as they spoke for a moment and then Bifur handed her a small jar. Once her prize was secured, Mistress Baggins disappeared again. Thorin pondered this exchange. Did they know each other? Gandalf had said nothing of a relationship between the burglar and any dwarrow, but Thorin had seen the braids and beads in her hair when she'd answered the door. Such things could only be gifted by a dwarf and Mistress Baggins wore them with comfort and familiarity. Perhaps the marriage braid in her hair belonged to Bifur's cousin? Wood was an unusual choice of medium to make a marriage bead out of; Bofur was a woodcarver though and maybe he'd wanted something unusual for an unusual bride? Had Bofur ever mentioned a family out here in the Shire? Thorin couldn't remember anything other than the talks they'd had over his and his kin's contract when they'd joined the company. Thorin tried to catch Bifur's eye and give him a questioning look, but Bifur's attention had already been taken by a bed of lettuce that had once (given the bones scattered on the platter) housed a fried fish or two.

   Thorin wondered at the braids Mistress Baggins wore until she reappeared as the company started to clear the table and set a song going. Thorin had been run out of town for less than what his company proceeded to do, but Mistress Baggins clapped along to the tune and laughed and scolded them at the end only for being such rascals before leaving to fetch dessert. Thorin listened to her go with a small frown. What in Arda had Gandalf been playing at, bringing them here?

***

   Bella peeked in on the children on the way to the pantry. Sigrún and Aster were asleep. Aster's face bore signs of crying, but Sigrún's pillow was dry and her face was calm. Morion had been woken by the noise of the dwarrrow's song, but settled down again when Bella told her to go back to sleep. Bryony had cried herself to sleep sometime between now and when Bella had left their room earlier. She sniffled in her sleep, brows creased with worry. Birla was still awake, but pretended to sleep when Bella quietly opened the door to check on them. Bella let her be. There was nothing to say now that could soothe the hurt Birla was feeling.

   She couldn't help but feel rather proud of the awed looks her food earned as she and Bofur set dessert out on the table. She'd done her best work on this food and was happy to see her guests were enjoying it. Bombur choked back tears when Bella set his very own plate of raspberry tarts down in front of him. Dwalin, Bella was amused to see, went straight for her sugar biscuits, while Bifur snatched up her violet tea cakes and Fili and Kili monopolized the lemon-glazed pound cake she'd set down near their end of the table.

   After the initial rush to sample every available dish, a comfortable silence fell on the room. It didn't last long at all before Balin spoke.

   “Well, Thorin, what news from the meeting?” Thorin visibly deflated. Bella looked curiously to Bofur, who indicated for her to come join him.

   “Aye, is Dain with us?” Dwalin asked as Bella fetched a spare chair from the corner and squeezed in between Bofur and Balin. Thorin sighed heavily, putting the small cake he'd been nibbling to the side.

   “None will come.” He pronounced it like a death sentence, which it probably was. Thirteen (yes, thirteen, Bella did a quick head count) dwarrow against a dragon? If that wasn't a death sentence, a suicidal venture, Bella didn't know what was. Angry mutters erupted around the table. Bifur made a rude hand gesture and Bella heard someone grumble about cowards and poncy asses.

   “The dwarrow of the Iron Hills?” Dwalin asked, though by the look on his face, he already knew the answer. Thorin shook his head.

   “They say this quest is ours and ours alone.” Bella stared down at the table. She knew the bitterness in that voice. It was the same as when she'd told him why she was no longer speaking to her Aunt Tansy. It promised a long memory of whatever hurt had been inflicted on him or his kin. Bella took a breath and let it out slow.

   “Perhaps,” Gandalf said from where he'd been smoking quietly up until now, “you and your company is all you will need, along with a little something else.” He reached into the folds of his clothes and pulled out a folded piece of parchment, faded with age. Bella, along with most of the dwarrow, leaned forward curiously as Gandalf opened what turned out to be a map and flattened it on the table in front of Thorin. “Far to the East, lies that solitary peak.” He tapped the lone mountain on the map, which was marked with writing in both Khuzdul and Westron. A small line of script next to the summit caught Bella's eye.

   “The Lonely Mountain.” She murmured breathlessly. An avid collector of maps as well as the written word, Bella was all aflutter over the details of the map: the penmanship, the illustrations, even the fine grain of the parchment and the way it tried ever so slightly to fold again without anything holding it flat. No matter its obvious age and shabbiness, it was a beautiful thing.

   “Aye,” spoke the red-haired dwarf whose name Bella knew had an “oi” somewhere in it. “Oin has read the portents,” at this, the others started groaning and waving their hands dismissively, but he kept on, “and the portents say it is time.” Bella bit back a chuckle at the bellyaching from most of the company. This was an old, worn topic and Bella wondered how much Oin had spoken of the portents in recent times.

   “Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold!” Oin spoke firmly over the others. “They call for our return to Erebor as sure as the sun rises.'When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.'” Bella raised an eyebrow. She'd never heard of such prophecies before.

   “Smaug,” Bella said quietly as she looked to the map again. The fanciful sketch of a little red dragon circling the mountain surely didn't do the real thing justice. Bella felt eyes on her and looked up to find those nearest her staring curiously. Her ears warmed. She hadn't realized she'd been heard. “That beast being Smaug, yes?”

   “Aye,” Bofur piped up, “that would, of course, be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire breather. Claws like meat hooks, teeth—” Bella gave him a shove before he could go any further. He was trying to wind her up; she recognized that mischievous look on his face.

   “Yes, Bofur, I'm familiar with the idea.” She said dryly.

   “Well, I'm not afraid!” The youngest of the group, Bella thought, stood up with a shout. “I'm up for it. I'll give 'im a taste of dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!” Bella bit back a snicker as he was pulled down by F—D—Ki—no, that was Dori.

   “Sit _down_ ,” Dori huffed. He was clearly exasperated by his younger brother's posturing, but Bella thought it was endearing, if not a tad naïve. He reminded Bella fondly of Sigrún especially when she went charging into the unknown, only to keep looking over her shoulder to make sure her momma was following behind. Bella had no doubt that by the end of this journey, he would—Ori! That was his name, it was Ori. Bella had no doubt that Ori would either grow out of such boastful words, or else follow them through with surety.

   “Facing that dragon would be difficult enough with an army behind us,” Balin said, “but we number just thirteen.” He cast a wry look 'round the table before continuing. “And not thirteen of the best, nor brightest.”

   Well, that caused quite the uproar. Between accusations that neither was he quite as qualified as an army to take on a dragon to demands that he tell them who exactly he was calling dim, chaos reigned for a time before Fili smacked the table for attention.

   “We may be few in number,” he said with the same commanding air as Thorin, “but we're fighters. All of us, to the last dwarf!” He hit the table again for emphasis. Bella hoped the yelling would quiet down before one of the children grew too curious to stay in their room.

   “And you forget, we have a wizard in our midst.” Kili spoke from his place by his brother. “Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time.”

   Bella raised a dubious brow. Gandalf was many things, but dragon slayer? Judging by the way Gandalf choked on his pipe and started stuttering, Bella knew she wasn't far off the mark. She giggled into her hand as Gandalf grew more flustered and the dwarrow grew more impatient to hear of his great feats of victory over the dragons of Middle Earth. When Dori obnoxiously demanded to know just how many dragons Gandalf had killed, Bella clapped both her hands to her mouth to keep her snickers from being heard. Served Gandalf right, she thought, after all the trouble he'd caused!

   Not very much later, Thorin, whose face had been growing stormier with each shout, jumped to his feet and slammed his hands down on the table.

   “ _Itkiti!_ ” He roared loud enough to make Bella jump, all mirth gone in a flash. Kagin had never shouted like that. The sound of his voice like that made her heart leap and had Bella grabbing at Bofur's sleeve. She shook like a leaf as silence fell across the table. “If we have seen the signs, do you not think others have as well? Rumors have begun to spread. Smaug has not been seen in nigh on sixty years. Others have begun to turn their eyes to Erebor, weighing the risk.” His voice commanded the room, which was only what Bella would expect from a king. It sent shivers up her spine and left her feeling awfully wrong-footed. Kagin hadn't spoken like a king, he'd spoken like a man. “Perhaps the great wealth of our people now lies unprotected.” Again, unhappy mutters rippled up and down the table. “Would you sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours?” Shouts of dissent sounded. “We will take back Erebor! Reclaim our home!”

   Riotous cheers came so loud then that Bella was sure the children wouldn't sleep through it, if they were asleep at all. She called for quiet, but no one listened; they were all of them too caught up in Thorin's words. Bella fell back in her seat with a huff.

   “Are you forgetting?” Balin's voice cut through the din. The boisterous mood died instantly. Thorin sank back to his seat, face clouding. “There's only one way into that mountain, guarded day and night by the worm. And, besides that, the front gate is sealed. There is no other way into Erebor.” Well, Bella thought, why were they even bothering then? It seemed this venture had more and more stacked against it with every moment.

   Still . . . Bella caught movement out of the corner of her eye and looked to see Gandalf fiddling with something in his robes. His expression was positively mischievous as he pulled a key out of his pocket.

   “That, my dear Balin,” he said, “is not entirely true.” All eyes locked on the key. Bella wondered idly if Gandalf had the city of Erebor itself tucked away in his robes. She wouldn't put it past him at this point.

   “How did you come by this?” Thorin stared transfixed at the key as Gandalf dangled it in front of him, then let it pass into Thorin's grasping fingers.

   “It was given to me by your father, by Thrain, for safe keeping.” Gandalf explained. “And now it is yours.”

   Thorin held the key with utmost reverence. The last time Bella had seen that expression was when they had finished delivering Sigrún to discover that she had borne yet another girl. Kagin probably would have spent the next month parading his newest child 'round the neighborhood, proclaiming her a gift from Mahal for all to hear, had they not been snowed into Bag End for another six weeks after Sigrún's birth.

   “If there's a key,” Fili said from the other end of the table, “there must be a door.” Bella shot him a dubious look. Not the best nor brightest indeed.

   “These runes,” Gandalf pointed with his pipe to a set of red letters next to the image of the mountain, “speak of a hidden passage into the mountain, if we can find it. Dwarf doors are invisible when closed. Though this map tells of the entrance, it says nothing of where it is or how to find it.” He straightened as much as he was able and looked around the table as though someone would be able to solve this problem. “The answer must be hidden somewhere on it, but I haven't the skill to find it. Before we can turn our thoughts to entering the mountain, we must find someone else who can decipher this map.” He paused to peer down at the map of Erebor as if it would suddenly reveal its secrets. “The task I have in mind requires a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage. But, if we are careful and clever, it can be done and quite well, I might add.”

   Bella didn't like the look Gandalf was giving her. It spoke of all sorts of obnoxious plans for her future, none of which she was to be consulted about.

   “Sounds like you need to find a burglar, Gandalf.” She said dryly. He tilted his head in her direction, expectant, but she just folded her arms across her chest and stared sedately back at him. She had five children, she wasn't going to be pushed or guilted into doing anything she didn't want to.

   “Indeed, my dear Bella, an expert.” Gandalf took a long puff of his pipe with a raised brow.

   “And are you?” Gloin's question caught Bella unawares. She did a double take in his direction before registering what he'd said.

   “Am I what?” She asked.

   “You hear that?” Oin said loudly. “She said she's an expert!” Bella pursed her lips. She was starting to suspect that his deafness was entirely selective.

   “No, I did not!” She protested. Oin, however wasn't listening. Yes, entirely selective. “I've never stolen a thing in my life, other than the occasional biscuit when my mother wasn't looking.” Honestly, a Baggins being accused of being a burglar. What in Arda had Gandalf been telling them?

   “I have to agree with Mistress Baggins,” Balin said. “No offense, lassie, but you're hardly burglar material.”

   “Nope.” She agreed with a strong shake of her head. Not burglar material at all, no sir.

   “Aye,” Dwalin spoke and nearly gave Bella a fright; she'd quite forgotten he was there, “the Wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.” Well, now, Bella thought that was making her sound just a little incompetent. She knew how to fight! Kagin had taught her how to use a sword, though . . . it had been quite a few years since she'd last practiced.

   Some of the company, particularly the younger members, took Dwalin's comment as a personal insult and they started arguing again. Bella had to pull Bofur down in his seat to keep from punching Nori on the nose when he loudly questioned Bella's ability to be anything but a burden on the road, which prompted quite some shouting from Ori when he heard that. The shouting was growing to be unbearable when Gandalf rose to his feet with a cry.

   “ _Enough!_ ” A dark cloud of power gathered around him, making him seem even larger than he was and causing the smial to creak gently in protest. They all of them were struck dumb by the sight. “If I say Belladonna Baggins is a burglar,” the cloud disappeared; Gandalf shrank back into his chair, “then a burglar she is.” Again he was the unassuming wandering wizard, frail and bent with age. “I would choose no unsuited person for this task and Mrs. Baggins is more than suited.” He took a long, firm look around the table to silence any further protests. “Disregarding her personal qualifications, hobbits as a whole are remarkably light on their feet and can go unseen by most, if they wish. And, while the dragon is no doubt quite intimate with the scent of Man and Dwarf, the smell of a hobbit will be entirely foreign to him, which will give us a distinct advantage.” An advantage to do what, exactly? Bella wanted to ask, but her tongue stuck fast and Gandalf continued on, speaking now to Thorin. “You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company,” Thorin looked as though he sincerely regretted that now, “and I have chosen Mrs. Baggins.” Bella pursed her lips. Chosen her without asking first; how could she have expected anything different? “There is more to her than mere appearances would suggest and she has a great deal more to offer than any of you know.” He now leveled her with a significant look. “Including herself.” She did a double take at this. What could he mean by that? But Gandalf's attention had turned to Thorin once again. “You must trust me on this.” He said somberly.

   Bella looked between them as they shared a silent conversation. Thorin's jaw worked the way Kagin's always had when he knew he was wrong, but was being mulish about admitting it. Finally, something in Thorin gave way and he indicated his decision with a slight nod to Gandalf.

   “Very well, we'll do it your way.” He spoke with all the gravity of one who fully expected Gandalf's way to end in nothing but failure. Bella felt miffed at that. She wasn't some simpleton or waif; she was perfectly capable if looking after herself. She could adjust to life on the road—she'd adjusted to far more wrenching changes before. “Get her a contract.” Thorin said to Balin.

   “What? No, I don't need a contract.” Bella said firmly. Balin hesitated only a moment before brandishing a half-folded parchment at her that she was sure was as long as she was tall.

   “Take a look anyway, lass.” He said. “It's just the usual. A summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth.” When Bella didn't take the offered contract, Balin gave it a little shake. She slowly reached out to grasp it, turning to Bofur as she did so.

   “Funeral arrangements?” She sincerely hoped that she'd heard wrong.

   “Oh, aye, never know what might happen on the road.” Bella was sure Bofur thought he was being reassuring, but his answer only made her stomach twist even more with nerves.

   Bella had to get up from her seat to allow the contract to fully open. It fell to the floor as Bella perused the first lines, wondering what exactly these dwarrow were getting themselves into.

   The more she read, the more Bella became convinced that she had fed dinner to a party of suicidal lunatics. There was talk of her expected duties as burglar of the company, as well as the compensation she was to expect at the end of the journey (one fourteenth of the wealth of Erebor; she could buy the Shire a hundred times over with that). Underneath all the talk of “the burglar will not hold the company responsible for personal injury and/or death” there was a list—of course there was a list!—of possible injuries that could be sustained. With each one, Bella's breathing grew sharper and her hands shook. She couldn't help but imagine sweet Bofur, lovely Bifur, Kagin—Thorin—the dwarf that wore her husband's face and all her dear friends meeting their ends in each of these horrible ways. Lacerations, evisceration, _incineration_! Here they were, talking about the greatest calamity of the age and they were going to go poke it with a stick!

   “Bella?” Bella jumped and turned to see Bofur half out of his seat, pipe dangling forgotten from his lips.

   “ _Incineration?_ ” She asked in a shrill voice. Bofur winced.

   “Oh, aye,” he said hesitantly. “He'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye.” Bella blanched. Her knees turned to jelly and her head started to spin in earnest. Bifur barked something harsh, but the rushing in her ears was too loud to catch it.

   “You all right, lass?” Balin's voice seemed to come from very far away as the image of Kagin being burned alive by dragon fire swam into her mind. Her stomach lurched violently. She dropped the contract to brace herself against her knees.

   “Feeling a bit faint,” she said weakly as she struggled for breath. Bofur's chair scraped noisily on the floor and he struggled around the crowd to join Bella in the hall.

   “Ye all right?” He asked quietly. Bella shook her head. The move made her vision tilt and whirl. There was a great swooping sensation, her vision broke out in spots, and the next thing she knew, Bella was in Bungo's old chair with a cup of tea being pressed into her hands by a rather concerned Bofur. Bifur, she couldn't see but could hear growling over her shoulder, telling someone to leave her alone. Beren had her head on Bella's lap and was looking up at her with wide brown eyes and a pinched forehead.

   “I'm all right,” Bella reassured her, reaching to scratch behind Beren's ears. Beren whined softly.

   “Ye sure?” Bofur laid a hand on her shoulder. Bella nodded earnestly.

   “Oh, yes, I just need to sit for a little while.” He gave her a pat and retreated to the chair opposite Bella's as Gandalf slouched into the room, bent nearly double to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling. Bella shot him a dirty look over her mug as she raised it to her lips. She hoped he hit his head on the beams for his trouble. “You told them I was a burglar, Gandalf?”

   “Ah, yes, well, 'burglar' is simply a blanket term to describe the post.” Bella raised a dubious brow.

   “Blanket term indeed.” She scoffed. “What were you thinking, Gandalf? I'm no burglar. Nor a great traveler; I can't be trekking across the known world for this quest. I can't leave Bag End.” Gandalf sighed heavily.

   “Not even for your husband?” Bella was much too tired to do more than momentarily consider throwing her tea at him. “Bella, I don't mean to push you into anything when I say this,” Bella and Bofur exchanged a dubious look, “but if there's anything that might bring him back, it would be time spent with a familiar face.”

   “You cannot promise that.” Bella all but groaned because she was so very tired and her hand hurt like nothing else and she just wanted to nurse her tea by the fire and forget about the dwarf sitting in her dining room, unaware of the upset he was causing. “And I'm afraid I can't afford to put hope into such a scheme.” Her gaze drifted to her tea, as though its swirling depths held all the answers to her problems. “I don't have the heart for it.”

   Gandalf's mood visibly darkened with disappointment or understanding, Bella wasn't sure. Either way, he put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

   “Either way, my dear Bella, I'll keep an eye on them as best I can.” He gave her a firm look that almost soothed her fears of the dwarrow's upcoming journey. “You can be sure of that.” Bella managed a weak smile before returning her attention to her tea.

   It took a little time to get blankets and pillows sorted out for her guests, but it was settled before too long with Bofur and Bifur's help. When the dishes were done and Bella had made sure her guests wanted for nothing else, she retreated to her room. The portraits from around the house were propped along the wall and on top of her vanity—Kagin stared at her from various canvases and parchments with laughter and love in his eyes. Bella fought the urge to turn the pictures away, face them toward the wall and away from her aching heart as she readied for bed. She was buttoning up her nightgown and seriously considering throwing a cloth over the portraits when she heard it.

   The song started softly—quiet enough that Bella thought she'd imagined it. But it grew louder, until other voices joined in and the whole company seemed to be singing. The words were strange, but the familiar melody made Bella's chest ache with old memories. It was a tune Kagin had hummed in distraction, never noticing until Bella pointed it out. It became a lullaby for their children, the low tones and soft tune perfect to send fitful babes off to sleep. She hadn't heard it in years and to now know the full song . . .

   She could almost see the great halls of Erebor, full of life and song and the riches of the mountain. She knew what kind of warmth and camaraderie must have existed there, the family that the dwarrow must have found in each other. Erebor had been a place of strength and safety. To have such a home taken away, to be driven out into the wilderness with naught but the clothes on their backs—Bella pined fiercely for the dwarrow's lost home; it was a pain she'd felt acutely with the deaths of her parents and Kagin's disappearance. She knew that, no matter how one settled into their new home and surroundings, there would always be a want for what had been lost. The song stirred up that want in her chest until she nearly wept from the pain of it. It made her blood sing with the desire to forsake all for the chance of reclaiming that lost home. How could anyone ignore such a call to arms?

   Before the last notes of the song had faded from the night air, Bella wrapped herself in her robe and stole away to her study. Mustering her courage, she sat down at her desk and pulled the nearest quill and piece of parchment toward her. She had a letter to write and packing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so freaking sorry it took so long to update! I had another project I was working on and I kinda put everything else on the back burner until I finished. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I just want to say, with Gandalf's little thing about "not even for your husband" I didn't mean for him to be manipulative, really, though it does come across that way. He honestly wanted to know if the possibility of restoring Kagin's memory would change Bella's mind. He's a meddling old codger, but he does care about Bella.


	8. Chapter 8

**June 12, 1317 (Shire Reckoning)**

   After the plumbing was fixed, it seemed Bag End was suddenly on the verge of falling down around Bella and Belladonna's ears. No more than three days after Kagin finished his work, Bella stopped by the forge with a basket of strawberry jam tarts and news that the latch on the front door had broken and could he come see if he could fix it? It took the next few days to make a new latch and fit it to the door. Bella sat with him on the front step while he worked, embroidering little red roses onto a shawl and turning a lovely sun kissed gold in the afternoon light. They talked while he worked—well, Bella talked. She caught him up on all the local gossip (not that he was particularly interested) and promised to come visit with her newest novel when her order came in from Bree. When the work was done, she brought him in for tea and scones and then sent him on his way with a small purse of money and a half dozen biscuits wrapped in a kerchief as payment.

   The week was hardly out before Bella was back again. It was the window in the study; the seal had somehow broken and it was creating such an awful draft.

   “I'm sure it'll be just an afternoon job,” She said as she set down the muffins she'd brought on the nearest table.

   Kagin came to Bag End after lunch the next day to see what was needed, stayed for tea, and came back the next day in the morning to finish the work.

   Bella came to visit him at the Green Dragon twice for tea and met him at the market once more before she sheepishly brought up an old chest she and Belladonna had recently found that had lost its key. Then it was the sideboard that had collapsed under one too many dishes, a light fixture that had gotten knocked out of place when Bella had been moving a stack of books and knocked into it.

   Kagin carefully took the fixture off the wall and inspected it while Bella prepared tea. It was a beautiful June day and Bag End smelled of heavenly strawberry jam rolls that Belladonna had been mixing up when Bella had let him into the smial. It was a sturdy piece of work, only the fastenings keeping it in place had gotten rusted enough to give way when Bella had walked into it. He just needed to make some new ones. It would take no time at all.

   “Oh, all right.” Bella sounded almost disappointed when he told her the news. She cast around for something to say, but came up short. “Well . . .” He was tempted to prompt her for an invitation to lunch or tea, but that would be much too forward. Despite what some might think of being called on by the same family over and over for work, Kagin had found himself quite looking forward to the days when Bella would come with something else in Bag End that needed fixing. He very much enjoyed the opportunity it gave him to spend time with Bella and get to know her better.

   The silence stretched between them like a chasm as Bella appeared to lose all of her usual verbosity. Kagin waited for her to say something, anything, but she seemed as lost as he was as she gazed up at him.

   She really was a tiny little thing, Kagin realized with a jolt. Soft curves, warm smile, gold curls, and so, so small. She hardly reached his chest, even with her curls adding a good inch to her height. She once caught his wrinkled collar and had to stand on the very tips of her toes to help him fix it. He thought, looking at her, that she was the perfect height to be tucked under an arm and into his side. It was a shame that they were nearing the truly warmer days of summer and not the frosty nights of winter that lent themselves so well to cuddling together for warmth. He wondered if she was wishing for similar things as she gazed up at him, eyes bright. Warm eyes, too. Kagin added this to his observations. Bella had such bright, warm eyes, almost always filled with laughter and kindness, and they were the most striking shade of blue-green he'd ever seen . . .

   “Would you like to stay for lunch, Master Kagin?” Belladonna's voice broke their reverie like an axe. Kagin startled, as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't (really, staring into the fetching eyes of a beautiful lass was a rather tame thing to be caught at). Belladonna pretended she didn't notice. She was leaning out of the kitchen, flour dusting her clothes and hair and a smear of red jam across one cheek, and she looked expectantly between the two of them as though they hadn't just jumped guiltily apart.

    “Yes, thank you.” He said, rushing the words out and hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt.

   Lunch was a beautiful spread of roast chicken and apples, chips, candied carrots, buttered garlic bread fresh from warming in the oven, and a lush salad that Kagin politely refused to touch with a ten foot serving spoon. Bella found his aversion to green food hysterical. She teased him with cherry tomatoes and lettuce before eating nearly half the bowl on her own. Dessert was a whole tray of miniature treacle tarts drizzled in raspberry sauce.

   Along with the food, they shared in friendly conversation. Belladonna seemed a little subdued, but she smiled and laughed between short silences, during which her mind seemed to drift away from the present. Bella did her best to draw her mother out and Kagin helped keep talk flowing between them. Belladonna was particularly enthusiastic about the garden and the progress of the small cherry tree they'd planted atop the Hill.

   “I am so dearly wishing to be able to have a small copse up there before long.” She said as she picked at the crumbs of her last tart. “Perhaps in a few years, if this sapling does well, we'll add another few. Then we'll have more preserves and jam than we'll know what to do with!” Bella giggled into her tea, then turned conspiratorially to Kagin.

   “Cherries are Momma's favorites.”

   “And why not?” Belladonna demanded with an impish grin. “Cherries are a magnificent specimen of fruit. The Great Smials have an entire orchard of them over the south side of the hill. The sight of their blossoms in the spring is truly one of my fondest memories. In fact, your father—” Belladonna pulled up short. Bella shot her mother a wary look, but quickly continued her unfinished thought.

   “Father got you a cherry tree for your first courting present, didn't he?” She prompted. Belladonna's eyes sparked back to life and she gave a soft chuckle.

   “Yes, he did. It's the one atop the Hill, actually. We planted it there on our wedding day.” She took her teacup in both hands and stared down at it as though it held all the answers to her pains. Bella bit her lip. Kagin shifted awkwardly in his seat, feeling very much an intruder on this moment. Before he could offer to show himself out, Belladonna blinked hard and looked up around the room, seeming surprised. “Would you like to see it, Master Kagin?”

   There were three trees on top of the Hill. One was an old, craggy walnut tree that leaned and curved precariously over the edge of the hill as it curved down into Bag End's back windows. The other two were farther toward the peak of the Hill, bright green leaves swaying in the afternoon breeze and sending dappled sunlight shimmering on the ground below. One stood a good three or four feet taller than the fragile sapling next to it. The beginnings of cherries hung in pale yellow clumps (tinged barely with faint pink) from the larger tree's branches. Belladonna had brought a step stool up with them and clambered up to inspect the growing fruit as Bella and Kagin hung back, simply taking in the sight of the two trees together.

   “It will be quite some time before it bears fruit,” Bella said to him as they watched Bella tug at a browning clump of leaves, “but we're quite looking forward to having even more cherries than we already enjoy.”

   They sat in the grass under the two trees and spent a little more time together before Kagin had to return to the forge and his work there. He promised to bring the new fastenings the next day and left with three large blueberry muffins wrapped in a kerchief.

   Before the week was out, Bella lost a ring down the kitchen sink's drain and needed help fishing it out. Kagin was sure he'd never met a family with such bad luck in their home as the Bagginses of Bag End.

***

   Bella was running out of excuses to have Kagin over to Bag End. Belladonna was running out of patience for her daughter's sudden clumsiness and the havoc it was wreaking about the smial.

   “Just invite him to dinner.” Belladonna muttered to her knitting as Bella considered just how old and rusty their fire irons were. Bella pretended she didn't hear.

   “Do what?” She asked absently as she picked up their poker and turned it this way and that. Surely it needed to be replaced?

   “Nothing, dear.” Belladonna answered in an equally breezy tone. Bella put the poker back, disappointed with its lack of rust and wear. “Did you give Master Kagin that book I wanted to loan him?” Perhaps the grate—book? Book? What book?

   “Book, Mother?” She knelt down to get a good look at the grate. It wouldn't do to have a deficient grate when winter came. It would be best to have it taken care of with time to spare.

   “Yes, that thrilling adventure I found in the library. We spoke about it the last time he was visiting and I was sure I asked you to fetch it for me.” No, the grate wouldn't do. It was in good shape, far too good to warrant a repair or replacement.

   “Sounds . . . interesting.” What else—the bookshelves! Did they need fixing?

   “Well, did you?”

   “Hmm?” Bella turned away from the dust on the mantle with a raised brow.

   “Did I do what?”

   “Give him the book?”

   “What book?” She was being silly. Bag End didn't need any more repairs (at least, not ones that could be done by hammers and nails).

   “The book I wanted to lend him, from the library, dear.” Belladonna told her knitting. Ah, yes, the book. What book?

   “Oh, of course.” Bella returned to her seat across from her mother and took up the new kerchief she was embroidering now that her new shawl was finished. It was going to go to Kagin as a thank you for all his hard work. Usually such a gift would be seen as a romantic overture, but Kagin didn't have a kerchief of his own. It was a known fact that anyone living in the Shire should have at least _one_ good kerchief. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with it quite yet, but she'd picked out a lovely rich blue and a deep forest green for whatever pattern she finally decided on.

   “You gave it to him?” Belladonna asked as she carefully counted the stitches of her row. Bella threaded the needle, pondering what she'd put on this kerchief. A lovely box stitch, may—what?

   “I gave who what?” Bella looked up, startled. Belladonna was gazing steadily back at her, brow raised, in the middle of a stitch.

   “Did you give Kagin the book I wanted to loan him?” She asked patiently. When Bella came up blank, Belladonna sighed quietly and prompted, “The one I asked you to fetch out of the library?” Bella contemplated her sewing for a good long moment before the vague memory of being asked to get a book from the library the last time Kagin had been by, but she'd been distracted by talk of the upcoming festival.

   “No, I didn't get around to it.” Bella admitted, rather sheepishly. It wasn't often that something slipped her mind. “I'm sorry. We got rather off course, talking about the midsummer festival.”

   Belladonna hummed thoughtfully and resumed her knitting. Bella waited for a good while before giving up the conversation as a lost cause. She stared back down at her new project. What was she going to do with this?

   Silence reigned for some time. Bella finally chose a nice diagonal stitch for the edges and small diamonds for the corners, green and blue mixing quite nicely on the stark white of the kerchief. She was finished with one entire side and halfway through the next when Belladonna abruptly put down her knitting and got to her feet. Bella glanced over at her, but received no explanation as Belladonna bustled out of the room.

   “Momma?” Bella called when Belladonna didn't return quickly. “Momma?” Footsteps heralded Belladonna's rush down the hall and toward the front door.

   “I'm going to drop that book off now. I feel like a walk anyway and if I don't now, I'll never remember to do it.” Bella caught sight of Belladonna trotting down the hall, waving the aforementioned book, before she disappeared past the parlor's entryway. “Would you like to join me? It's such a lovely day out.” Bella gave the sunlight and warm breeze coming through the window and, after a short moment's consideration, put her embroidery aside.

   The day was indeed lovely. Puffy white clouds scooted across a powder blue sky. It was warm, enough to make Bella's hairline dewy once she and Belladonna reached the end of Bagshot Row, but nothing too uncomfortable. Mother and daughter strolled leisurely down the lane, enjoying each other's presence and the beautiful weather. Every so often, Bella would stoop to pick a wildflower; she picked the petals off in an absent wishing game, though she could think of nothing to wish for as the petals blew away on the wind.

   They stopped by the Green Dragon, as it was a Sunday and word had it that Kagin had a habit of opening the forge late on Sundays. The dining room was buzzing with conversation and few tables were left open. Dipelta greeted them at the door, hefting a tray of drinks on one hand and a hot plate of food on the other. She directed them to an empty table in front of a window and disappeared in the crush of hobbits enjoying a late Sunday brunch at the inn. It was another quarter hour before Dipelta was able to come 'round to their table again and, as well as take their order of tea and cakes, rush off to the guest rooms to tell Kagin he had visitors.

   “Mistress Baggins, Miss Bella,” Kagin's voice broke their silent contemplation of the view out the window. Bella jumped, having not heard him come up. “I wasn't expecting you today. Is something else at Bag End in need of repairs?”

   Bella's ears pinked and her teacup was suddenly in need of avid attention while Belladonna chuckled.

   “No, thank the Valar, things seem to have calmed down for now.” She gave Bella a significant look over her teacup as she sipped nonchalantly at her tea. Bella caught the look and decided it was actually the burst of wild carrot blooms outside the window that needed her attention just now. Her heart pounded in her ears, much too loud to be proper. “Why don't you have a seat, sir?” Kagin took the empty seat at the table and settled in while Belladonna continued. “I simply remembered that I failed to give you a book earlier and came to deliver it before I forgot again.” She handed the novel over. Kagin took it with mild curiosity lighting his eyes. “It's no great history or informative work, but it is quite a thrilling piece of literature about an adventurous Man and Dwarf in the beginning of the Third Age. I found it quite a wonderful read.”

   “Yes, I remember you mentioning it the last time I visited.” Kagin said, distracted as he opened the book and gave the page a short once over. “It looks quite interesting, ma'am. Thank you for bringing it by.”

   “You're quite welcome. Do help yourself to some tea.” Belladonna gestured for the tea things on the table. “Oh, Bella, have you been up to check on the cherries today?”

   “They're coming along very well,” Bella said as she finally managed to get her racing heart under control.

   “We make a delicious cherry almond cake for the midsummer festival.” Belladonna confided. “Wins first prize for desserts almost every year!” Kagin looked appropriately impressed. Their table lapsed into silence for a short time. Belladonna sipped at her tea and Bella did her best to smother the butterflies in her stomach. She and Kagin had a near miss when they both went for the same teacake and Bella felt as though her face were about to burn to a crisp. She muttered an apology and took a different cake. “Are you planning to go to the festival, Master Kagin?” Bella looked up from the cake she was picking apart. What was her mother doing?

   “I don't believe I've been invited, Mistress Baggins.” Kagin said, rather sheepishly. His gaze flicked toward Bella, who had been waiting for his reaction and quickly looked away, embarrassed to be caught staring. Goodness, she thought, why weren't the windows open? It was awfully warm in here. “I have been made quite welcome in my time here; I'd hate to impose any more on the good residents of Hobbiton any more than I already have.”

   “Tsk, nonsense!” Belladonna waved her free hand airily. “You've been absolutely wonderful these past months and it would be ridiculous to think you weren't allowed to attend. You simply must come and see Hobbiton at its finest. I guarantee you will quite enjoy yourself, won't he, Bella?”

   Bella had been picking her cake apart and analyzing the crumbs in an attempt to distract herself from the heat in her face and fluttering in her stomach. She was wrenched back to the conversation by the sound of her name and floundered when she found her mother and Kagin waiting for something from her.

   “Hmm? Oh, yes, yes, of course he'll enjoy it.” Bella gave herself a pat on the back for her quick thinking as she caught up with the conversation. “Good food and drink, music, dancing! Oh, it's such great fun!” Kagin smiled softly.

   “Food and drink and music, I'll be sure to enjoy, but I'm afraid I won't be of much use for dancing.” He said. “I think the Water washed them all out of my head.” Bella nearly shivered in anticipation at the idea of teaching Kagin to dance.

   “Oh, that's no trouble at all. A few sets watching on the side and a little practice and you'll be dancing with the rest of us in no time.” She was dangerously close to offering to teach him herself, but Bella felt sure he must be wanting to use this opportunity to get to know some of the other ladies of Hobbiton. After all the time Bella had spent bothering him both at and outside work, she was sure he'd be wanting to spend some time with new people. “Just you wait,” Bella continued when Kagin seemed to doubt the ease with which he would learn to dance, “you'll be sweeping all the pretty ladies of Hobbiton off their feet!”

   Bella quickly took a long sip of her tea to distract herself from the sudden dimming of her previous enthusiasm. After all, it wasn't any business of hers who Kagin ended up dancing with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! I'm sorry this took so long. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing and leaving kudos and stuff. You guys are the freaking best!!


	9. Chapter 9

**27 April, 1341 (Shire Reckoning)**

   After a night spent tossing and turning, Bella rose before the sun and left Bag End on an errand. She hurried through the streets of Hobbiton, down all the way to Bywater, and back again as fast as she could.

   Her guests and children were still sleeping when she slipped into the smial through the back door, gingerly shutting it behind her. Aside from the loud snoring echoing in the parlor, Bag End was silent as it usually was this time of day.

   Bella trotted down the hall toward the kitchen, keeping her steps light and silent. It was breakfast first before anything else. For a hobbit, there was nothing worse than starting the day on an empty stomach and Bella was no exception. She would need quite a bit of food to be hearty enough to face the day ahead. Her trip to market yesterday had been for more than just dinner. She'd bought enough food to send the dwarrow on their way on full stomachs. Bella hadn't been about to let them leave without giving them a full show of Shire hospitality after all. Now, well, now she needed just as much a good breakfast as they did. She emptied the cupboard of all the things she'd bought the day before and got to work.

   Soon there were sliced tomatoes, a ham and potato hash, and three kinds of eggs frying on the stove. Sausage and bacon sizzled happily over the fire alongside fat mushrooms, thickly sliced black pudding, and a massive pot of what was going to be porridge. Bread was sliced and toasted and left on the table surrounded by jams and butter enough to feed the whole company. A large jar of honey went in the center of the dining room table, surrounded by scones and rolls and seed cakes.

   Bella was just beginning to plate the first dishes when Bag End began to show signs of life. The first one up was Dwalin. She heard much shuffling and quiet cursing over her shoulder before he came into the kitchen, looking ruffled but alert and very much ready for breakfast.

   “Good morning, Master Dwalin.” Bella said with a smile. “I've already got some food out in the dining room. Please help yourself.” Dwalin made an appreciative grunt and disappeared into the dining room.

   “Momma?” Sigrún was next, early riser as usual. She came down the hall with dragging feet and a groggy call through the smial. “What's cooking?" She wandered into the kitchen with a loud yawn and a hand rubbing at her face.

   “Breakfast,” Bella answered as she carefully slid the sausages out of their pan. “I've got sausage, bacon, toast, mushrooms, tomatoes, your favorite black pudding . . .” Sigrún's eyes lit up and she rushed to the fire where the black pudding was just finishing up. “Careful!” Some of the snoring in the other room cut off abruptly at Bella's warning. Sigrún pulled her fingers back, only to fetch a nearby fork and spear a slice of pudding on the end. “Go get a plate, _rukhzakhuz_.” Bella chided, spoon at the ready to swat wayward fingers. Sigrún shot her a truly devilish look and scampered off into the dining room. “ _Ruhkzakhuz!_ ” Bella called after her with a laugh. Sigrún's giggle was her only reply.

   The company woke very soon after, each of them trailing through the kitchen to the dining room after yawning and groaning and stretching awake. It was quite amusing to see, these seasoned warriors, these respectable dwarrow, these men that had been rather put together the night before now rubbing at their eyes and giving jaw-cracking yawns and blinking blearily as they made their way toward food. Bella wasn't sure which was more endearing: Kili trailing after Fili, one hand on his brother's shirt, his eyes screwed up against the sunlight streaming through Bag End's windows, or Balin (who had been so dignified just last night) grumbling under his breath about early mornings as he stumbled into the dining room, one sock missing and the back of his shirt hanging out his trousers. Bella giggled into her hand as the company filed past her, only until Thorin came trudging past and brought an abrupt end to her amusement.

   She quickly turned back to the food, silence falling like a storm cloud over the kitchen. Bella didn't like the way seeing him made her feel. She was mistress of Bag End. She'd gone this long without him, and yet . . . there was still that small part of her that had always hoped, always dreamed for the happy endings she'd heard so much about when she was a child. It was foolish, she knew, but—Bella shook her head, chasing away those whimsical thoughts. No time for that, when she still had food to get on the table.

   She followed Thorin into the dining room in time to see Sigrún jump out of her seat and hurry over to Bofur to hide from her father's imposter. She clambered into Bofur's lap and settled Thorin with a suspicious look before starting to pick food off Bofur's plate. Bella had half a mind to tell her off for her rudeness, but Birla and Bryony made their appearances then and she was too busy trying to avoid another crying fit to be worried about Sigrún's dirty looks.

   Birla, for one, was doing her best to pretend the man that had been her father wasn't in the room. She gathered food onto her plate and took a seat beside Bifur, tucking into her food with all the casual air of someone who didn't have a long-lost relative sitting at their table. Bryony's eyes stayed fixed to her feet as she got her breakfast set on her plate, then immediately disappeared into the kitchen to eat. Bella was about to follow after when she caught sight of Aster peering curiously into the dining room, only his wide eyes and curly mop of hair visible around the door jam.

   “Aster, come in, darling.” Bella joined him at the entryway and herded him into the dining room. “Breakfast'll be cold if you keep dawdling like that.” Aster took a wide-eyed look around the table, then a questioning glance up at Bella. “Go on,” Bella gave him a small nudge. It was all the encouragement he needed. Aster rushed to the table and began loading up a plate, piling it with eggs and hash and scones.

   “Careful there, laddie,” Gloin caught Aster by the seat of his pants when the lad nearly toppled off a chair in his eagerness to reach the plate of kippers at the middle of the table. Aster gawked up at him once he was settled on the floor, staring at Gloin with all the referent awe of someone meeting a hero for the first time.

   “I hope my beard looks like yours when I'm older!” Aster cried, touching the sparse scruff on his cheeks in envy. “Momma says it'll grow in time, but I don't think so. Grandpapa Took's nearly a hundred and he's just started sporting whiskers.” Gloin's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he stroked his truly impressive beard.

   “Eat well and listen to your mother and you'll have a fine beard of yer own one day, laddie.” He gave Aster a pat on the head, which nearly sent Aster into a daze, and fetched the kippers that had nearly seen Aster face-first in the table.

   “How many bairns do ye have?” Balin seemed to appear out of nowhere at Bella's elbow. Bella startled, but only for a moment.

   “Five,” She answered easily, “my four girls and Aster.” She indicated the children that were still at the table. Balin's eyes widened.

   “Four girls, goodness!” He puffed his cheeks and huffed out the air with a rather stunned expression. “Mahal surely blessed you and your husband.”

   “Yes, I believe he did.” Bella smothered a dark thought about Kagin's disappearing. How had they been blessed then? But Balin didn't need to hear her air her grievances toward the Valar and she let him go with a cheerful grin and a nod.

   Bella watched the bedlam at her table for a time, before deciding she'd waited long enough. She caught Bofur's eye and motioned for him to join her out in the hall. He deposited Aster in his seat and squeezed between Bombur and the china cabinet, carefully making his way toward Bella. Once he was close enough, she herded him out of the room and far enough down the corridor to keep from being overheard.

   “I'm going with you.” She said quietly, peering over her shoulder toward the dining room entrance.

   “Are ye sure?” To his credit, he managed to downplay what must have been considerable worry. Bofur knew as well as anyone that Bella couldn't be talked into or out of things; her mind made itself up and that was that.

   “Yes, I'm very sure.” Bella made sure she sounded more confident than she was. Making her mind up to go was one thing, actually setting about leaving the only home she'd known her whole life was another entirely. Where she'd been all firm resolve last night, a tiny niggling worry had started to form when she thought too much about what this journey would likely need for her.

   “What'll be done with the children?” Bofur asked with an even tone that Bella appreciated.

   “Bryony's going to be sent to live with Violet until her apprenticeship is up.” Bella answered. “And as for the others, I've written a letter to my Took family. Hopefully, it'll arrive before we do and give them some warning. I'm going to be taking them down to the Great Smials today and then I'll catch up with the rest of you, probably in Frogmorton or Bree.” Bofur nodded along. Something in Bella's tense nerves relaxed at his acceptance of her decision.

   “Ye'd better get started packin',” he peered toward the dining room. Breakfast was still in full swing, but it would probably be finishing soon. “Thorin wants to get goin' as soon as possible. I'll round up the kids.” He turned to leave, but Bella caught his sleeve before he could go too far.

   “Send them to my room, will you?” She said. “I need to talk to them first, explain what's happening.” Bofur made a small noise of agreement as he shuffled back toward the dining room to fetch the children.

   Bella had her old rucksack out on the bed, entirely packed the night before except for a few small items, and was contemplating the pros and cons of bringing just one evening dress along, just in case, when there came a knock at her bedroom door. She decided that it was really quite silly to expect to be anywhere civilized enough to warrant such frivolity, cast the dress in question aside, and called for whoever was knocking to enter. Bofur's funny hat preceded him and the children into the room.

   “Momma? What're you doing?” Morion's quavering voice made Bella's resolve falter, but only for a second. She steeled herself for what was to come.

   “I'm packing.” Bella answered.

   “What? Why? Where are you going?” Birla demanded in quick succession. She eyed the packed bag on Bella's bed with distrust.

   “Last night I realized it wouldn't be right to let this chance—to possibly restore Kagin's memories—pass.” She took up the makings of a bed roll and started folding them together. “I'm going to be leaving with our guests.” Loud protests came from the children when it sunk in what that meant. “I cannot idly let this opportunity pass by.” Bella continued, raising her voice to be heard. “There is little chance that I will succeed, but any chance at all is better than none. I would do my best to restore your father's memories of us, at the very least to have some peace after all these years.” Silence fell like a hammer on an anvil. Bryony's shoulders drooped. Morion looked ready to cry. “I'm very sorry, but I feel this must be done.” She heaved a sigh before speaking again. “We're going to be gone for quite some time, so I've made arrangements for you while I'm gone.” She didn't say that there were also arrangements in case she didn't come back. That bridge would be crossed if they ever came to it.

   “Who are you sending us to?” Bryony's tone was even, but her brows were pulled together in worry. Bella fastened the bed roll to her bag and made sure all the clasps were firmly fastened before taking a deep breath.

   “You'll be staying with Violet, finishing your apprenticeship.” Bryony's chin wobbled before she clenched her jaw and heaved a resolute, gasping sigh. “I'm taking the rest of you down to Tuckborough to live with Aunt Donnamira and Uncle Hugo in the Great Smials. I sent a letter with the morning post. It should get there before we do.”

   It had taken some time last night to decide which of her relatives to send her children to. The Baggins side of the family was out of the question. As much as they loved each other, Bella had no doubt that there would be unnecessary, probably accidental hurt feelings between her children and their cousins if they were to be left to live together for upwards of a year, possibly two. So, she'd turned her thoughts to her aunts and uncles on the Took side of the family. Her cousin Sigismond and his wife had agreed to look after the children, back when the twins were still in nappies, should anything happen to Bella and Kagin. But he and Daisy had been planning a holiday starting next week for upwards of eight months. It would be cruel to make them cancel it at the last minute. So, Donnamira and Hugo were really the only choice. Everyone else was either too far away or had so many children of their own that Bella couldn't imagine leaving any more with them. Besides, they had looked after the children before, when Bella and Kagin had gone to Bree or Michel Delving for a guild meeting or trading fair. The children loved their Aunt Donnamira and they had a standing invitation to their smial. Bella only hoped this would extend to taking care of them until Sigismond and Daisy returned from their holiday.

   “But how long will you be gone?” Sigrún asked. She had her skirt clenched tightly in her little fists and was scowling darkly at the wall behind Bella.

   “I'm not sure.” Bella reluctantly admitted. “Even if we face no setbacks the journey there alone is going to take, what,” she looked to Bofur for help, “about four or five months?”

   “Aye,” Bofur agreed, “we're goin' all the way past the Misty Mountains and the Greenwood to the east of 'em.”

   “That's far.” Sigrún grumbled. Bella left her bedside to pull Sigrún into a tight hug. It wasn't long before the others joined in and Bella was in the middle of all her children, trying to squeeze as much love into them as she could while she was still here.

   “It's very far.” Bella said. She'd spent all last night thinking of just how far it was and how each step on this journey would take her even farther from home. “Which is why I need you all to be brave while I'm gone and be good for your aunt and uncle.” She leaned down and kissed the nearest head of curly hair. “I also need you to go pack. Enough clothes to last at least two weeks and anything you can't wait 'til later to bring with you.” She glanced at the clock near her desk and was startled both by how early in the day it was and by how much time seemed to have passed since she woke earlier. “We need to be in Tuckborough by tomorrow.” Bella caught Bofur's eye as the twins ushered the others out of the room. “I need to speak to Thorin and Balin and get that contract sorted out.”

***

   In the end, there were only a few points on which Bella refused to budge in the contract. Most of what was being asked of her and her employ in the company was fairly straightforward and reasonable. Of course she wouldn't expect more than a fourteenth share of the profits (not that she was sure what she would do with even half of that if Bofur's old tales of Erebor's wealth were to be believed). Yes, it was perfectly reasonable to expect to provide her own luxuries, but no, one or two meals a day were nowhere near enough to keep her even somewhat unhappily fed; she would be needing at least three meals a day and that was being conservative. (Thorin and Balin both were quite shocked to learn that hobbits daily ate seven meals, with snacks between if they felt peckish, and that, yes, all of them were necessary and, no, they weren't wasting any food at all.)

   Bella felt like giving up and leaving these ninnies to their fates when Thorin kicked up a fuss about her objections to an arbitrator chosen by the company.

   “If any issue comes to arbitration, I will have a third party chosen by either us both equally or by someone else entirely.” She almost shouted, but kept her tone civil. “I will not participate in such a biased farce.” Storm clouds gathered in Thorin's steely eyes, but Bella held her ground and Balin, sensing how dangerously close they were to losing their recently hired burglar, laid a hand on Thorin's arm to calm him.

   “It was an oversight on my part, Thorin, not to worry.” He said with a reassuring smile. Thorin set his jaw stubbornly, but nodded, relenting, all the same.

   After that, things went quite smoothly and Bella had the contract—revised to both her and Thorin's approval—signed and sealed before it was time for second breakfast.

***

   Thorin protested the length of time it was taking Mistress Baggins to get ready, only until she informed him that it wasn't her they were waiting on, but her children.

   “My closest relatives (that aren't in your company in the first place) are nearly an eight-hour journey from here. If I'm to be leaving them with my family, they need to pack first.” She said when he asked about the delay when it seemed she was quite ready to leave.

   “Ah, yes, well,” Thorin wondered if there were anything to say at all that would help amend his blunder, “we need to be leaving soon regardless.” He turned on his heel and left before he made a bigger ass of himself.

   He ignored the frustrated grumble from Bella as he walked away.

   While the others were out of doors, arranging to rent ponies from the nearby inn, gathering last-minute supplies in town, or simply enjoying what would be the last respite they had for quite some time, Thorin paced restlessly about the parlor. He'd been all out of sorts this morning. Waking up, he'd been quite sure he was back home, until he realized that home didn't include the cozy guest room of Bag End. No matter how he'd shaken the thought away, Thorin had felt wrong footed the whole day. An air of expectation hung around him, as though he thought he were about to turn around and see—who or what, he didn't know, but it had put him in a sour mood indeed. Thorin scowled at the pictures over the mantle as he fiddled with the beads that hung on a chain around his neck. He couldn't wait to be on the road and put this place behind them. This place with its warm halls that seemed to hold their breath and watch—Thorin turned suddenly, the feeling of being watched making his skin crawl.

   There was a sharp gasp and a small, dark head disappeared around the entryway to his left.

   “Hello?” He peered slowly into the hall, catching sight of a red skirt as it flashed around the corner into the kitchen. His body relaxed, a small smile threatened to appear on his face. A child peeping in on a stranger in their home was no need for worry. Still, it was curious and Thorin had seen little indeed of Bella's children outside breakfast, where they had been more than happy to clamber over Bofur and Bifur as they ate and demand attention from them. Thorin had wondered at them last night.

   How could Gandalf have thought that taking their only parent left along on an adventure was at all appropriate? Mistress Baggins herself hadn't seemed very happy about the idea of leaving her family and had declined them before her sudden change of heart this morning. Perhaps, he thought as he stepped back into the parlor, ignoring the skittering feet that shuffled about behind him, he could talk Mistress Baggins out of going with them and find a burglar elsewhere. Surely there were any number of other people more qualified for the job and without a family to look after on their own?

   Thorin returned to the parlor and took a seat in the chair closest to the fireplace. He settled in and was about to pull out his pipe for a calming smoke when a small noise caught his attention. He looked around for signs of his spy and caught sight of a white blouse behind the entryway into the front hall. He shook his head with a small smile, recalling the days of Fili and Kili's childhood when such antics were regular occurrence, and lit his pipe.

   He smoked in peace for only a few minutes before the spy had the courage to sneak into the room and take up residence behind the chair opposite Thorin's. Her feet were visible under the armchair, little stubby toes blanketed in dark curly hair. They wiggled impishly and Thorin had the sudden idea of grabbing those feet and tickling them until the spy yelled for mercy. No matter what might be said of him and his stern demeanor, Thorin had a soft spot for children—as most dwarrow did. He wondered at times . . . A pair of bright blue eyes slowly appeared from behind the armchair.

   Thorin looked away, feigning interest in the carvings on the mantle. There was some more shuffling, the chair creaked, and she pushed herself all the way to the back of the chair.

   “ _'Amad_ says we're not to bother you.” She said, all matter-of-fact. Thorin raised a brow, puffed his pipe, and gave her an assessing look. She looked to be a child of twenty or twenty-five, but Thorin wasn't familiar enough with hobbits to know for sure. She had the sturdy build of a Dwarf, but Thorin could see Mistress Baggins in the shape of her nose and jaw.

   “Does she now?” He asked around his pipe. The girl nodded.

   “Yes.” Again in the same matter-of-fact tone. “Are you really a king?” The question came out of nowhere and Thorin blinked owlishly at his companion as she started to kick her legs against the chair's cushion, which her feet only just hung over. “Only, Momma says you are, but Morion says you're only a king if you've got a crown and you _don't_ have a crown, so I was wondering if you really are one or not.”

   “Kings do not always wear crowns,” Thorin said. “They would be most uncomfortable to sleep in, wouldn't they?” The girl frowned, as though she hadn't thought of that before. “I am indeed a king.” Thorin pushed himself out of his seat to make a proper introduction. “Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain, at your service.” He bowed theatrically. The girl's eyes grew wide.

   “Have you really got a _whole mountain_?” She asked, awestruck.

   “It was lost.” Thorin said carefully. “That is the goal of our quest: to reclaim it. Then . . . yes, I suppose I'll have a whole mountain.”

   "We have a hill.” She said in a voice as odd as the look she was now giving him. “I think I'd have much too much room if I had a mountain.” The bead for a third daughter flashed in the light as she slid off the chair and scampered out of the room.

   Thorin puffed on his pipe long after she was gone, contemplating the words carved into the underside of the mantle, which were only visible at this angle: _Let it be known that Kagin was happy here._ He took a long draw at his pipe and let out a series of small smoke rings. What an odd place this Shire was.

***

   The dirty great beast would not stop following him around. Thorin was sure it was part warg and it trotted behind him through the house, tongue lolling out of its mouth, dark eyes wide and expectant. Mistress Baggins assured him the thing was perfectly safe (“Oh, tosh, Beren's been watching the faunts for years! She wouldn't bite a rabbit if it jumped into her mouth.”) but Thorin wasn't sure. It was disconcerting to be so close to an animal nearly as tall as the hobbit giving his company shelter and not have it trying to kill him. No, instead it simply wandered around Bag End, occasionally with a child riding its shoulders like it was a pony.

   Thorin could hardly wait to be on the road and rid of this place, dirty great dogs, strange children, and all the damn expectant walls included.

***

   It was hard enough getting the children packed, even with help, but Bella and Bofur and Bifur managed to get their clothes and the few things they simply couldn't go without packed into rucksacks before tea time. There were more than a few tantrums. Sigrún pitched a fit when she found out that their animals would be taken with Bryony to live with Violet. Morion spent a half hour under her bed, pouting, when Bella insisted that she couldn't possibly take all of her stuffed toys with her—one would have to do for now. Bryony cried quietly as she and Birla packed their things. They'd never been apart as long as they were about to be. The rare visits they would be able to manage between their schedules wouldn't be enough, but Bryony had responsibilities and there was no place for Birla in Violet's home.

   Bofur helped her make the last minute arrangements that would keep Bag End tidy and looked after while she was gone. He ran down to Holman's smial and delivered Bag End's key and a letter of instruction while Bella checked and rechecked their bags and set about shutting up the smial. Holman had instructions to help himself and his family to the food in the larder. Bella swept out the grate and dumped the ashes. Her bedroom door was locked; there was nothing in there that was anyone's business but her own. She checked over Telchar and got him settled in a padded basket for travel to Violet's, where he would be employed as pest control.

   “C'mon, love, hurry!” Bella called into Bag End. She stood on the front step along with the rest of the company and her family, waiting as Aster ran back into the smial for one last thing he'd forgotten. The others were milling about impatiently. A few of the dwarrow were already up on their ponies—Thorin had climbed onto his steed the second Bella had said they could be leaving soon—but the rest were standing about on Bag End's front steps or out on the lane, taking in the glorious day ahead of them.

   “Coming!” Aster shouted as he scampered down the front hall and out the door. “I forgot poppa's knife.” He held out a small pocketknife, carved with Kagin's name on the one side and a small dwarven pattern on the other. “You can't go on an adventure without it.”

   Bella's eyes stung. She blinked back tears as she gently took the knife and pocketed it.

   “No, I don't suppose I can.” She said quietly.

   With that, she carefully locked Bag End's door. Her fingers lingered for a moment, tracing over the time-worn wood, before she pulled away and started down the stairs. Sigrún ran ahead down the lane, dragging Morion along with her. Bella paused to latch the gate and allowed herself one last look up at Bag End. It would be a long time indeed before she'd see home again. Deep in her heart, Bella knew that she'd be a very different hobbit when she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations:  
> Ruhkzakhuz - tiny demon (I couldn't find a word for "imp" but that's basically what it is. Bella's calling her a rascal.)


	10. Chapter 10

**30 June 1317 (Shire Reckoning)**

   The midsummer festival was, quite frankly, a three-day pissing contest to see who had the best food, drink, clothes, and pipeweed. At least, that's what Belladonna said when she came back from a trip to market the morning before First Litheday, toting a basket of things she'd need to make her famous almond cherry cake for the festival. Bella snorted tea up her nose, choked, and set about attempting to cough up a lung.

   “ _What?_ ” She spluttered when she finally had breath to speak.

   “Oh, you heard me.” Belladonna grumbled as she unloaded her shopping onto the kitchen table. “That odious Mrs. Fairbush from down the lane was quite catty with me today.” She roughly set a small bag of nuts on the table, ignoring the clatter it made. “As if I really care that she almost beat me with those strawberry tarts of hers last year or that she could very well beat me with an improved recipe this year! The nerve of that woman.” She dissolved into unintelligible mutterings that were occasionally punctuated by an exasperated “Well, I never!” or “Honestly, some people's egos.” Bella shook her head and went back to her cooling tea.

   First Litheday dawned bright and beautiful, as cliché as that was. Bella woke to the smell of bacon, eggs, and eggy bread wafting through the air. She bolted out of bed and stumbled toward the kitchen. She was groggy, but eager to start the day.

   Despite Belladonna's grumbling the day before, the midsummer festival was great fun—if you didn't allow yourself to be swept away by the competition that is. A great market was held, aside from the competitions, where you could buy things from merchants that came from all around to sell at Hobbiton's midsummer festival. Things that were normally a few weeks' journey away were now in Bella's backyard, waiting to be explored. She couldn't wait to go down to the market and see what had been brought out to celebrate Lithe.

   “Oi, slow down.” Belladonna admonished gently as Bella wolfed down her breakfast. “Even after you finish eating, you still need to get dressed before you're fit to go out!” Bella slowed her ravenous pace, but only just, and as soon as they were dressed and ready to leave, she rushed out of Bag End before Belladonna had even had the chance to lock the door.

   The festival was set to start between breakfast and second breakfast, kicked off with a dance around the maypole. Even if she didn't get there in time to be a dancer, Bella always loved to watch the ribbons and dancers weave about the maypole. In twenty-seven years, Bella had never once missed the maypole dance.

   The area around the Party Tree was already full of life when Bella stumbled off the path and onto the green. Booths and stalls were all freshly painted and sported a variety of bright toys and clothes, mouthwatering foods, and splashes of flowers arranged in enticing bouquets. Ribbon and flower girls wove through the crowd, waving poles covered in bows and baskets full of blossoms at passersby. Bella spotted Marigold Hutch up ahead. She was toting a basket of flowers and shouting that they were half price when bought for a sweetheart.

   Up ahead, the maypole was being readied for today's maypole dance. Bella's feet practically itched to dance as she watched the hobbits set up the pole's thick ribbons for later.

   “Bella!” Bella turned to see Dipelta sitting at a stall from the Green Dragon, sporting a selection of finger food. “Bella, come on over! Look what we've got.”

   “Hello, Dipelta,” Bella collapsed in the chair next to Dipelta with a huff. “What've you got today?”

   “Only the best meat pies, of course. You had second breakfast yet?” Dipelta picked up a pie and waved it enticingly under Bella's nose. She lunged forward and took a bite, making Dipelta squeal.

   “Now I have!” Bella snagged the pie from Dipelta's fingers.

   “You'd better be payin' for that, you little sneak!” She dug her fingers into Bella's side with a mischievous grin. Bella laughed so hard she nearly snorted the pie up her nose.

   “Of course I'm paying for it, Dipelta.” Bella managed after swallowing her mouthful. “Don't be silly.” She pulled out the coin purse Belladonna had given her before leaving the house that morning and carefully counted out the money for the pie. Bella dropped the coins into Dipelta's hand. “Oh, Dipelta, I missed things being set up. What's happened so far?”

   "Well, Mrs. Bolger and Mr. Worrywort got in a scuffle 'bout who go to put their stall over there by the judges' table.” Dipelta pointed to said space, which was occupied by a stand selling pottery, manned by Mr. Digmond from Frogmorton. “He slipped in while they were arguing and hasn't moved.” Dipelta and Bella burst into giggles. “And Mr. Birchby's been giving that fellow with the hats the old stink eye since he stole away Olivia Hart's patronage. Look, she's still over there, fawning over his feathers.” Indeed, she could be seen, running her fingers through a selection of bright partridge feathers while Mr. Birchby looked on from a distance, positively green with envy. “Some fool tried shortchanging me for a pasty, but I set 'im right.”

   As Dipelta went on about idiots who couldn't read signage correctly, Bella's gaze wandered over the field. She couldn't see very far from here, but far enough to catch little Firo Boffins sneaking a biscuit from his mother's booth and to have a good view of her aunt, Camilla Baggins, as she braided dandelions into her oldest daughter's curls. After a few minutes of idle searching, she spotted a familiar head of hair, standing head and shoulders over the rest of the crowd. Bella had to crane her neck to follow him as he made his way over to the tanner's stall and paused to inspect the wares there.

   “—course not! They can't hardly see past the end of their noses, let alone to the signs on this booth. Spectacles is what that whole family needs—Bella, where are you going?” Dipelta's rambling stuttered to a halt when Bella suddenly got to her feet.

   “I just—I saw—oh, sorry, Dipelta, I've seen someone I must say hello to.” Bella dusted the crumbs from her skirt and told herself she wasn't fixing her hair because of Kagin, but because it must have gotten a little loose on her run to the market. “I'll be back later, all right?”

   “Yeah, all right.” Dipelta said, suspicious. Bella really was an awful liar and they both knew it. “Tell Master Kagin I said hello.”

   “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Dipelta.” Bella sniffed. Dipelta's giggles followed her down away from the stall.

   Bella didn't end up catching Kagin at the tanner's stall. She was waylaid halfway there by her Aunt Ruby Baggins and by the time they'd finished talking, Bella could no longer see Kagin anywhere in the crowd. She refused to say she'd lost him. How could you lose someone who was a good half foot taller than everyone else around them? Kagin stood head and shoulders over everyone in town; Bella had never lost him in a crowd before. She hadn't thought it possible before now.

   By then, everyone that didn't have to mind their stalls were flocking to the maypole. Bella hurried to the pole to get a ribbon before they were all taken. She found herself between Calder Wycliff from down Bagshot Row and Arior Estrella, the milkman's daughter. She shared a smile with Arior before the music was struck up.

   Bella couldn't help her giggling as she stepped to the side, allowing Arior to circle around her with her ribbon. Step, swirl, step, circle around Calder and then over behind Gale Wetwood. The music made Bella's whole body itch to dance and lifted her spirits until they soared on the clear spring air. She and her cousin, little Odo Proudfoot, exchanged their ribbons and started the large spin around the maypole. The ribbons tightened into place, woven around the pole in a bright pattern, as the music reached a crescendo.

   Heart racing in time to the music, Bella rushed under a ribbon, held aloft by a laughing boy with daisies in his hair. Her skirts flared out as she spun and came to an abrupt stop as the music sounded once, twice, and then fell silent. Applause rippled through the crowd and was caught up by the dancers. Bella smiled so hard that her cheeks hurt as she clapped along.

   The crowd slowly dispersed in the next few minutes. Bella kept an eye out for Kagin, but after nearly a quarter hour spent craning her neck, Bella gave it up as a lost cause. She'd run into him eventually and it wouldn't do to make a fool of herself by hopping about like a faunt that had had one too many biscuits before supper. Instead, Bella wandered over to see Gale Wetwood, who was standing next to a display bedecked with bowls of flowers and already made flower crowns. She was helping a young couple—their cheeks pink, their eyes shifting nervously toward each other and then away—to braid morning glories, white clover, violets, and aster into matching crowns.

   Gale looked up when Bella's shadow fell over her.

   “Miss Bella!” She said cheerily. “Come pull up a chair and get started. It's not Litheday without a crown.” Bella did as she was told and plucked a couple daisies out of their bowl to get started. “How about some lavender or gorse to brighten that up?” Bella gave the offered bunch of yellow blooms a suspicious look.

   “My dear Gale, I had no idea you felt that way about me.” She said dryly. Gale laughed heartily, withdrawing the gorse.

   “Well, if you're going to be like that about it, perhaps some dill is more what you're needing.” Gale brandished a fragrant sprig with a lecherous grin. The lad braiding aster into his crown made a choked noise and the girl turned pink. Bella scowled as she pushed the dill away.

   “I don't need any dill, gorse, or lavender, thank you.” Bella said firmly. “I'll stick to daisies and liverleaf and cornflower.” Gale pursed her lips.

   “I think lavender would suit your crown rather well, is all.” She sniffed, her attention seemingly back on the flowers she was braiding. “Brings out the blue in your eyes.” Bella gave her a shrewd sidelong look.

   Bella left Gale's stall with her crown perched proudly on her boisterous curls. She didn't need gorse or lavender or—Valar help her— _dill_ in her crown to be perfectly happy with it and with herself. Bella didn't know why Gale thought she needed it either. The spirit of festivity must have gone to her head. She clearly was seeing things that weren't there. Gale, Bella thought to herself as she set her mind to the task of finding her mother in the crowd, had always been far too romantic and silly about these sorts of things. People didn't just—It wasn't as if she—Kagin and she weren't—There was Belladonna, picking up a small potted hawthorn to inspect it.

   “Mother!” Bella called to dispel the thoughts muddying her mind. Belladonna looked up, smiling gently.

   “Bella, dear, come take a look at these.” Belladonna held out the plant for Bella to see. “I think it'll make a fine addition to our garden, don't you?”

   “Yes, I think it will look very well.” Bella tried her best not to give anything away in her tone. Hawthorn in their garden would mean hope, for the future, for recovery, for anything really, but it wouldn't be the first time Belladonna had shown signs of getting better, only to slide back into her black oblivion for seemingly no reason at all. Belladonna seemed happy enough at the moment. Small, bright cowslip blossoms were tucked into her dark curls and her eyes were shining and lively.

   “Very well, indeed. Master Calder, I'll take two and pick them up at the end of the festivities today.” Belladonna selected the second plant after a long moment of deliberation and Calder set them aside with her name attached. “Thank you.” She then linked Bella's arm with hers and led her away from the stall. “And what, my dear girl, have you been up to this morning? No lavender for your crown?” Belladonna gave Bella's flower crown a light tug. Bella's cheeks pinked.

   “I've been feeling awfully fond of daisies lately.” She said pointedly, playfully swatting her mother's hand away.

   “Of course, dear.” Belladonna said. “They do look quite lovely in your hair.” Bella got the feeling she was being condescended to, but let it pass and brought the conversation to the rich bolts of fabric on display at a nearby stall.

***

   Kagin had meant to find Bella right away after arriving at the festival. He'd woken early, carefully braided his hair and fiddled with his growing beard (not quite long enough to fashion yet, but it was getting there) before giving it up as a lost cause. He didn't have much in the way of hobbitish attire, but he had put on his best vest and breeches (which, he lamented, weren't very “best” at all) and hurried out of the inn toward the village green.

   Kagin arrived in time to find the residents of Hobbiton—and a few surrounding villages—milling about between stalls and booths that boasted a wide variety of delicious treats and shiny, richly colored trinkets and wares that promised to lighten his purse before the day was out. Kagin started the festival with a small sticky bun purchased from an older hobbit woman with graying curls and rosy cheeks and made his way from there. His next thought was to find Bella or some other familiar face, but he became rather distracted by a pair of decorative vambraces at the tanner's booth and quite forgot all about it by the time he roused himself enough to walk away.

   Very soon after, a cry went up in the direction of what appeared to be a maypole on the other end of the field. Kagin, remembering Bella and Belladonna's comments about dancing, made his way through the stalls and booths to the maypole to see what all the fuss was about.

   There was quite a lot to fuss about, as it turned out. In fact, watching the dancers flit about the maypole, Kagin was sure he'd never get the hang of the light-footed steps and quick whirls that sent skirts spinning and curls flying. Hobbits hopped to and fro on the green like birds, flitting from tree to tree. They weren't quite as graceful as, say, an elf, but it was a kind of grace on its own that held a beauty about it. And, in the middle of it all, was Bella.

   She was a sprite dancing in the sun. Her hair shone in the sun, flaring out with her skirts every time she twirled up on her toes. She laughed freely as she passed the other dancers, eyes glittering, cheeks pink from the dance. Bella's dress complimented her well; the bright emerald fabric brought out the flecks of green in her eyes and looked very well against her sun-kissed skin. She danced gracefully, seeming to hardly touch the ground.

   Kagin felt cumbersome and clumsy just watching. His heavy feet would never be able to move like that, no matter what hope anyone might have for him. He watched with a growing sense of dread for the dancing to come. If this was what Bella and her mother had been speaking of the other day, Kagin knew he was doomed to an evening spent in a chaperone chair, watching from afar. He would surely make a fool of himself if he tried to join the dancing and the last thing he wanted was to make a fool of himself in front of—in front of the fellow inhabitants of Hobbiton.

   Instead of staying to see the dance finish, Kagin inched away through the crowd. He was well on his way toward a promising pottery display when the music ended with a final flourish.

   It wasn't until nearly lunch that Kagin saw Bella again.

   He was standing at a table, looking over a wide variety of delicate glass beads, when he heard a voice he'd become rather familiar with in the past months. Kagin glanced up, not expecting to be able to spot Bella in the crush around him. He did a double take when she actually managed to stand out, bright white and soft blue blossoms like a halo around her hair. She was talking to her mother and a hobbit gentleman Kagin vaguely remembered from Hobbiton's market. As he watched, Bella let out a high giggle. Her nose wrinkled and her shoulders shook with mirth. Before he was quite aware of what he was doing, Kagin had left the stall and was making his way through the crowd toward her.

   “Master Kagin!” Belladonna noticed his approach before the others. She greeted him with a merry wave and a warm smile. “Come join us. We were just discussing the merits of the salad course versus the fish course.” Kagin chuckled. Only in the Shire would such a thing be discussed outside of a kitchen.

   “A very controversial topic indeed, ma'am.” He said with a smile. “Where do you stand on the issue?”

   “I myself am particularly fond of the salad more than the fish, as is Bella,” Belladonna said. “but Mr. Holm is very sure that a good trout is much better than a lovely salad.” Kagin exchanged an understanding look with Mr. Holm.

   “I'm afraid I'll have to side with Master Holm on this, Mrs. Baggins,” he said, feigning reluctance. “Any dwarf worth his salt would not be heard praising anything green over meat of any sort, even fish.” Bella scowled, but it lacked heat.

   “Here I was hoping you'd help us bring him 'round to our side.” She chided with a playful tap to his arm. “If you're not going to back our arguments, you might as well go back to what you were doing.” Kagin grinned down at her.

   “Perhaps I shall agree with you next time, if you do not insist that a food made of naught but air is more enjoyable than something as warm and savory as a freshly caught fish.” Kagin watched Bella's answering giggle with satisfaction.

   “I will convince you, someday, that lettuce and arugula are not poisonous.” She teased.

   “Until then, Miss Bella, you'll simply have to keep fish on the menu.” Kagin held her gaze for a long moment as her smile deepened.

   “You can be sure I will, Master Kagin.” Bella said gently, just for him.

   “But enough about food,” Belladonna interrupted their reverie and Kagin gave himself a shake as he turned back to her. “Master Kagin, I don't suppose you've got a booth planned for the festival, have you?” She had fixed him with an odd look and Kagin felt rather flushed, though he couldn't fathom why.

   “Er, no, ma'am. Not this year.” He answered. “I'm afraid I thought it best to simply observe before I brave the midsummer's festival. Perhaps next year.” Belladonna beamed at him.

   “Yes, of course,” she said, “there's always next year.”

   They wandered together through the stalls. Bella and Belladonna took it upon themselves to be his guides. They introduced Kagin to a few vendors and merchants he hadn't met before, including a book salesman who'd come from Oatbarton in the North Farthing with a small selection of early Second Age Gondorian history books that Bella absolutely fawned over. He seemed awfully familiar with Bella and Belladonna both.

   “We used to take walking holidays 'round the North Farthing and we always stopped at Mr. Glenn's shop in Oatbarton.” Belladonna explained.

   Bella left the stall with an order of books that would be delivered to Bag End at the end of the day.

   At noon, a cry went up in the direction of a set of tables that had been bare when Kagin had arrived that morning. They were bare no longer. A wide array of pastries, pies, biscuits, cakes, breads, and an entire table laden with jars of jam in every color under the sun, all with labels telling who had brought what from where and what division of the competition they were entered in. Bella grabbed Kagin by the hand and dragged him over to the pastry table, chattering about Belladonna's almond cherry cake and how it was very likely to win again this year.

   “Definitely over Mrs. Fairbush, that's for sure.” She said pointedly, indicating a platter of strawberry tarts. And then she went on to explain the competition.

   The fresh food went first. Cakes, pies, biscuits, jams, breads were all judged the first day. Judges went from table to table, sampling the items and writing on little slips of paper. At the each hour, the winner of a division would be announced and prizes would be awarded. At the end of the day, the overall winner would be announced and awarded their prize. Tomorrow would be the livestock competition and the last day of the festival culminated in a massive fruit and vegetable competition that Bella swore she would win this year with her tomatoes. Of course, bringing up tomatoes ended in an argument over whether they'd be entered in the fruit or vegetable category and that occupied them for a good while as they made their way around the tables and took in the best food that Hobbiton had to offer.

   They stopped by Gale Wetwood's stall after taking a long turn around the tables. She greeted them with a smile and a wave and did her best to convince Kagin that what his outfit was missing was a flower crown. He managed to get away with only a few small buttercups tucked into his braids. He wanted to take them out as soon as they left the table, but Bella laid a hand on his arm.

   “Oh, don't!” She cried. “I think they look rather nice.” She reached out to touch a blossom. “It's rather fetching against your dark hair, you know.”

   Bella's gaze grew soft as she trailed a finger over delicate yellow petals and then let her hand fall to her side.

   “Belladonna Baggins, you rascal,” Bella whirled around with an excited gasp. A young hobbit was making his way through the crowd toward them. He was young and round, like most hobbits, with a head of curly black hair and bright eyes the color of maple wood. He came running up to Bella and clasped her hands tightly, a great beaming smile on his face. “Did you think you'd get away with passing my stall an' not saying 'ello?”

   “Absolutely not, Melo, but I didn't know you had a stall this year! I thought you'd gone to Michel Delving for the festival there.” Bella pinched his arm teasingly. The boy (Melo, Kagin corrected himself and what sort of a name was that?) laughed. Kagin watched the two with the feeling that he'd suddenly been shut out of the conversation. “Call me a rascal—you're the rascal! Not telling me you'd not gone away.”

   "It was barely a few days ago tha' I decided to stay.” Melo ran a hand through his hair before gesturing back up the way he'd come. “Da only just got a job out in the South Farthin' an' left me to tend the stall on my lonesome. I'da popped 'round Bag End and said if I'd thought you were takin' visitors. Da said—Who's yer friend?” He suddenly noticed Kagin standing awkwardly off to the side. Kagin straightened as Bella turned to him. He tried not to wince when he noticed how surprised she seemed to be that he was still with them.

   “Goodness, my manners,” Bella muttered to herself. “Melo, this is Kagin. He's been working the old forge since May. Kagin, this is Melo Foxhill. He and his father run the carpenter's shop in Bywater. You have to come see their stall. Their work is absolutely magical.” Kagin hoped the smile he managed wasn't as stiff as it felt.

   “At your service, sir.” He said with a short bow. Melo laughed.

   “Goodness, I've 'eard o' dwarves being all proper, but I never thought I'd 'ave one bowin' an' scrapin' to me.” He thrust his hand out for Kagin to take. “Melo Foxhill at yours as well, but mostly in the Shire, we just say 'nice to meet you'.”

   Kagin took Melo's hand and wondered at the passing whim to squeeze his fingers much harder than necessary.

   “I'm all for following local custom, Master Foxhill.” Kagin said as amiably as possible (which is to say, not very amiably at all). “It is a pleasure to meet you as well.” But, really, it was anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. I started full-time hours at work about a month ago and they really hit me hard. I've just started getting back in the swing of things with my writing. Hopefully, the next chapter will be out sooner. I'll have to see how it goes.
> 
> Flower meanings:  
> Lavender - Love, devotion  
> Dill - Lust  
> Gorse - Endearing affection  
> Daisy - Innocence  
> Liverleaf - Confidence  
> Cornflower - Delicacy, refinement  
> Morning Glory - Affection  
> White Clover - Think of me  
> Violet - Affection, virtue  
> Aster - Talisman of love  
> Buttercup - Riches


	11. Chapter 11

**27 April, 1341 (Shire Reckoning)**

   If he didn't know any better, Thorin would say that the residents of Hobbiton and Bywater weren't all that fond of him. Last night, he'd been so late in coming to Bag End that there was no one but the hedgerow to witness his arrival in Hobbiton. This morning was another matter entirely.

   As soon as they were out on the lane, making their way toward the road to Bree, Thorin felt stares prickling on his skin and heard whispers flying from garden to garden as they passed. He was sure he was being paranoid, but it seemed that he was garnering more attention than the others of his group. He was nearly certain that he heard an older woman whisper his name to her friend as they made their way past her front garden.

   The Baggins children didn't seem to notice their mother's preoccupation. They ran about, chatting with any friends that found them on the road with their strange party, darting out to pick flowers for their mother or to tuck into their braids, playing tag while always returning back to Mistress Baggins (who had been elected “base”). The dog lolloped between the children, barking happily, tail wagging. At one point, Bifur was called upon to pull the youngest up onto his shoulders, where she sat with all the grace of a small queen on her throne. She leaned over occasionally to whisper in his ear and Thorin wondered at the small smiles that Bifur always seemed to have for whatever she was saying.

   They parted ways at Bywater. Mistress Baggins and her family went to the local apothecary, accompanied by Bofur and his kin and Balin, who wanted to ensure they would be able to meet up again on the road to Bree. Once they were gone, Thorin was sure the whispers truly started in earnest. He—well, he never caught anyone talking, but he knew better than most how it felt to walk through a crowd that was gossiping about you. Thorin made sure to keep his head up and his eyes fixed straight ahead until they were out of town and past any and all nosy hobbits. It wouldn't do for the king of a proud Dwarven kingdom to be seen trying to catch gossipers red-handed.

   Apart from the mutterings that followed them out of town (which Thorin was rather used to) the Shire was a peaceful, quiet land of rolling green hills and warm sun that seemed just a tad brighter here than Thorin recalled it being anywhere else. The air was crisp, even in the afternoon, and carried the scent of the wildflowers that grew in bursts along the road and scattered in the fields they passed. Birds sang and flitted from tree to tree. Ori could be seen, lagging behind, making notes of plants and animals they passed in his notebook. It was a pleasant day.

   Thorin couldn't decide if he liked it or not. One could say that the Shire was too peaceful, too friendly, and too damn—the sun surely hadn't been this bright just last week when he made camp before entering the Shire. He glared up impotently. Why should it be different here than any other place he'd been in Middle Earth?

   “Hobbits,” Thorin grumbled to himself, shaking his head.

***

   Violet took Bryony and the animals with a shrewd look to Balin and a pointed request for Bella to put her foot between Kagin's legs if he ever decided to be difficult with her. Morion tugged Bella's skirts and whispered that that would hurt, wouldn't it, while Bella struggled not to chuckle at the thought of a majestic king of Dwarrow bent double after a kick like that.

   “And what’d you do to that hand?” Violet asked, askance, at the sight of Bella’s wrapped fingers. Bella hurriedly pushed her hand into the folds of her skirt.

   “I punched a dwarf.” She said lightly. Violet nodded sharply.

   “Plenty of time to do it again; wrap ‘em in mail next time or you’ll be breaking something again.” She winked, Bella rolled her eyes, and then they were saying their goodbyes and Bella hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time she saw Bryony.

   Beren gave a mournful yowl when it became clear that they were leaving her behind. Bella gripped Morion’s hand, set her jaw, and kept on going down the lane.

   They took the southern road to Tuckborough at a good pace. Bella was quite confident that, despite any stops they might make, they could reach the Great Smials tonight, hopefully before dark. The fields and patches of forest that surrounded Hobbiton soon gave way to the clusters of rolling hills that heralded the beginning of Green Hill Country. The road slanted down between the boundaries of two farms and continued on in what probably started life as a very wide ditch. Bella appreciated the respite from the sun. Sigrún made a point to walk where the sun was still shining onto the road.

   Birla had tucked herself into Bella's side after they left Violet's and refused to leave for anything of her siblings' antics or pleadings to join their play. Bella ached to see her so sad, but there really was no other way about it. Birla was hopeless with injuries and didn't care much for the science that went into Violet's work; she would be nothing but a distraction to Bryony if she stayed in Bywater. Bella only hoped that, with time, Birla would be able to forgive her for this. She hoped that she would survive this adventure and be able to return home at all in the first place.  
Walking down the lane, it hit Bella like a hammer on an anvil. She might not come back. Bella stumbled to a stop in the middle of the road, jolting Birla from her side and causing Bofur to look over at her questioningly.

   “Nothing,” she mumbled before continuing on. She gently drew Birla back to her. “It's nothing, love, just thoughts.”

   “Thoughts are like words—they only hurt when you let them.” Birla said, matter-of-fact. Bella sighed.

   “Your father taught me that, you know.” She said softly. “'Words are what you make them: weapon, shield, healing balm.'” Bella raised her voice as she quoted some of Kagin's sager advice.

   “Oh, aye, I remember that one.” Bofur called. He had wandered farther down the road with Sigrún, but managed to hear Bella. “Always sounded like such a ponce when he talked like that!” Bella chuckled.

   “He did, at times. But I've always found that that sort of advice always sounds better when you talk like a ponce.” Bella said with a fond smile. Kagin had been full of remarks like that. Looking back, Bella wondered if they'd been thought up before or after he'd washed up in the river. Poncey sayings did seem the kind of thing that a prince learned by rote on his way to the throne.

   “Ponce! Ponce! Ponce!” Morion yelled, emphasizing each shout with a jump forward. “Was _'adad_ really a ponce, Momma?” Morion paused in her running about to look back at Bella. Bella was almost sure she heard Balin snort.

   “Only when needed.” Bella answered glibly. “And it's not nice to call someone a ponce, love.”

   The afternoon wore on. They made their way south toward Tuckborough and Bella did her best to take in the sights as they went. This could be, after all, the last time she came through this way. She was going away. She was going on an adventure and, with a dragon on the other end, there was no guarantee she or anyone else in the company would return. It was these dark thoughts that accompanied her as they traveled, despite Bofur's attempts to cheer her up.

   Halfway between Hobbiton and Tuckborough, they were approached on the road by a cart, pulled by a short and stout pony and driven by a shorter and stouter gentlehobbit. It was the post that ran from Tuckborough to Oatbarton through Bywater and Hobbiton. Bella called for the children to gather to the side of the road, so the cart could pass. The postman tipped his hat and was already passed them when he pulled the reigns and brought his cart to a stop.

   “'ere!” He called down the lane toward them. “'ere, ma'am, aren' you Mrs. Belladonna Baggins?” He peered at Bella from under the wide brim of his hat.

   “Yes?” Bella jogged to catch up to the cart as the postman started to rummage through his bag.

   “Got this fer you from Mr. an' Mrs. 'ugo Boffins.” He said. “They said ter give this t' you should we meet on the road.” He pulled an envelope from his bag and offered it to Bella. “Urgent news, they said.” Bella took the letter, ripped it open (gingerly, her wrapped fingers were still painful) and quickly read through it.

   It was a short note from Aunt Donnamira and Uncle Hugo, relaying their willingness to take the children for as long as necessary as well as their hope for her and her family's safe arrival at the Great Smials. Bella nearly cried in relief.

   If there had been anything Bella had learned since Kagin left, it was that people's generosity usually extended only so far. Mrs. Roper dropped flowers and meals by when Kagin first disappeared, but things turned frosty between them when Bella had asked her to tell her son to stop bullying Birla. Sam Greenhand could give Aster all the extra tea cakes he wanted, but it didn't change the fact that he hadn't “thought it proper” to allow his children to play with Bella's when Bryony's fuzz had first started to grow and she refused to shave it. Aunt Camilla had been willing to have Bella to tea and dinner parties until she committed the unforgivable sin of marrying someone that Camilla didn't approve of. Bella had dreaded arriving at the Smials to find that no one was willing to take full responsibility for her children while she was away. She would have had no choice at that point but to stay.

   “What is it?” Bofur asked, coming up behind Bella to peer at the letter over her shoulder.

   “Donnamira and Hugo wrote. Everything’s settled.” Bella’s eyes stung as she handed the letter to Bofur to read. He slung an arm around her shoulders when he was finished.

   “They’re good folk, this kin of yers.” Bofur said lightly. He used his gentle grip on Bella’s shoulders to turn her ‘round and start going toward Tuckborough again. Bella gave a small smile.

   “The very best,” she agreed.

   With this weight off her shoulders, Bella felt quite refreshed and was able to enjoy the rest of their trip down to the Smials a bit more. All her previous dark thoughts had been pushed away by the letter from her aunt and uncle and she was left to enjoy the evening with her family. She was even able to strike up a conversation with Balin about the current state of trade between the dwarrow of the Blue mountains and the Breefolk. They chatted about trade routes and the going rate of certain wares (Bella had been rather immersed in the smith trade when Kagin was still with them and had kept in touch with some of her friends from Bree over the years) as well as the difficulties of maintaining trade relations with a town nearly a month’s travel away. The Shire had it easy; their lands were close enough to Bree that accidents and faulty orders could be easily fixed. The Dwarrow of the Blue Mountains didn’t have that sort of luxury. Anything that was delivered damaged or made to the wrong specifications had to be set right before their caravan left Bree, often by someone other than the original maker.

   From Bywater to the Great Smials, it was about five leagues and was supposed to be a seven-and-a-half-hour journey if no stops were made. Traveling with four children that were in various stages of mourning the loss of their home and sister for the next year meant they made quite a number of stops that lengthened their trip until they finally reached the outer edges of Tuckborough nearly nine hours after they’d left Violet’s home.

   It was obvious to anyone looking that their journey had taken a lot out of the children. Before they reached Tuckborough, Morion had started nodding off and she was now carried by Bofur as they made their way up the drive to the main entrance of the Smials. Sigrún was having a hard time of it too, though she was doing her best to pretend otherwise. Her chin kept dipping toward her chest and she had to force her eyes open again when she blinked. Bella had suggested she allow Bifur to carry her, but Sigrún refused and trudged on at an increasingly slow pace. Aster was being quietly cranky as was his wont when he stayed up too late. Bella was more than glad when they finally reached the massive blue front door that sat between them and the Smials’ front hall.

   Aster was leaning heavily against Bofur by the time the door was answered. The hobbit standing before them was tall, dressed in a rich red waistcoat that strained a bit at the buttons, and was in the process of rubbing sleep from his eyes when he finally seemed to recognize his visitors. Bella couldn’t help but smile. It was Sigismond. His eyes lit up and he rushed forward to pull Bella into a hug.

   “Belladonna Baggins, you imp!” He yelled happily. “You’ve given us all quite a shock, haven’t you? Runnin’ off with dwarves, eh?” Bella returned the hug eagerly. She and Sigismond had been thick as thieves growing up. When they were younger, they’d been the instigators of many an adventure in the woods outside the Smials.

   “Oh, well, you know, couldn’t let them have all the fun, could I?” Bella tried to tease, but with her departure looming overhead, it fell flat. Sigismond sobered as he pulled away and gave Bella’s companions a once-over.

   “Yes, well, Fortinbras is waiting up for you and Aunt Donnamira and Uncle Hugo as well.” He stood aside to let them into the front hall.

   They trudged inside. The night had grown quite cold and Bella was glad to be in the warmth of a home once again, even if she and the others were due to leave before the night was out. Sigismond greeted Bofur with a smile and a hand to his shoulder. They’d met quite a few times in the years that Kagin had been gone, both keeping an eye on Bella in her initial grief. He helped the children out of their packs and took them off to their rooms while Bella dithered in the hall, half-dreading the talk she was no doubt about to have with her grandfather. She waited until Sigismond came back to ask where Fortinbras and the others were waiting.

   “They’re all in Grandfather’s study, of course.” He said. “You know how Hugo gets when he’s worked up. Fortinbras didn’t want him bothering the others with his pacing.” Bella frowned.

   “What’s he worked up about?” She could see Hugo being worried about her upcoming journey, upset at the short notice she’d given them before thrusting her children into their care, but pacing? Uncle Hugo only ever paced when he was hacked off and trying to be polite about it. Sigismond shot Balin a sharp look, which Balin diplomatically ignored.

   “Best ask him yourself, yeah?” Sigismond jerked his head in the direction of the study. Bella sighed heavily and left to face her doom. “Let’s get you gentlemen some drinks. Anyone here like brandy?” Sigismond’s bubbly voice faded as Bella went farther into the smial.

   Bella couldn’t help but feel like a naughty faunt called to her father’s side for a talking to, knees scraped and skirts muddied from another foray into the fields outside Bag End. Her stomach tightened with every step and she had to fight the urge to wring her hands as she made her way to Old Took’s study. Fortinbras had taken well to his role as Thain in the past two years; he was a born leader and had always been the one to be the voice of reason among the children. Bella was sure he would have words for her sudden leaving, though she was . . . fairly certain he wouldn’t do much to stop her from leaving when it came down to it. He had her concerned; Uncle Hugo had her very worried. What had him so angry? Was it that Bella was inconsiderately pushing her children on him and his wife with almost no notice? That she was leaving everything behind to risk her life in a hare-brained venture with nearly a dozen complete strangers? That she was about to go on what would probably go down in Shire history as one of the most scandalous adventures ever undertaken, even by Took standards? She fretted over the possibilities all the way to the study and hesitated to knock on the study’s door when she reached it.

   Fortinbras was waiting at his desk, watching with tired eyes as Uncle Hugo made his way to a window, stared out into the dark for a moment, then went to the next, twitching and muttering under his breath all the while. Aunt Donnamira sat in an arm chair by the fire and watched Hugo with a small frown. She turned to look at Bella when she cautiously entered the room. Donnamira’s frown smoothed into a warm smile and she rose from her seat to greet Bella.

   “Bella, how’re you doing, love?” She gave Bella a kiss and a hug before pulling away to have a long look at her.

   “As well as I can be.” Bella said. “You know, what with my husband showing up again without any memory of me or our children.” Donnamira grimaced. Fortinbras snorted as he rose from his seat.

   “Well enough for a good whiskey, then?” He said dryly. Bella chuckled.

   “More than well enough for a whiskey.” She answered. “Give me a double, will you?” Fortinbras poured her drink.

   They sat in awkward silence for a moment—long enough for Fortinbras to pour himself and Bella drinks. Bella was accepting her tumbler when Hugo turned from the window to face the room.

   “Bella, you’re sure about this, are you?” He said suddenly, nearly startling Bella into spilling her whiskey. She sighed and set her glass down.

   “Quite sure,” Bella said evenly. She braced herself for a row. Tooks were hard-headed and opinionated at the best of times and Uncle Hugo could throw a well-worded barb with the best of them. “I’m all packed; I’ve signed a contract to assist them in their journey. I’m afraid it’s much too late to back out now.” Hugo frowned.

   “Now, Bella—” He started, but Bella didn’t give him a chance to finish.

   “Don’t ‘now Bella’ me,” she interrupted. “I’m not in the mood for this today. Let’s cut to the chase. What’s got you so worked up, eh?”

   “I can’t stand to see you get hurt again.” Hugo said. “Not because of him, not again.” He wrung his hands together. Donnamira watched him warily. Bella waited for him to elaborate. “You say there’s nothing left of Kagin in this man—this Thorin fellow. As far as I can tell, you’re opening yourself up to be hurt and disappointed, and I’d rather spare you that, if I can.” He spoke haltingly, but firmly and fiddled with the buttons of his vest. Hugo avoided arguments until he couldn’t any longer. “I don’t think it’ll end well and I’m—I’m mad that you’re willing to do this to yourself after all the heartache he’s brought you. I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself if I didn’t say something now, though I don’t think it will do one spot of good in the end.” Hugo nodded sharply and fell silent. Bella contemplated the idea of getting another drink, but decided she didn’t want to make the effort.

   “No, it won’t do any good.” She finally said after a long silence. “I’m afraid I’m much too much like my mother for that.” Fortinbras sighed heavily.

   “You have everything sorted?” He asked. He looked up from his glass with a dark gaze. Bella nodded. “Your will?”

   “I’ve sent it to my solicitor along with a letter of instruction, should I—should this quest not be successful.” She looked to Donnamira. “Sigismond long ago promised to take the children in, if anything were to happen to me or Kagin. I’d have asked him to take them in now, but I know he and Daisy are planning to leave next week on holiday.”

   “And we all know how long they can take on their holidays.” Fortinbras said. “Last time they were gone nigh on six months and only came back because Sig’d promised me to help with the judging at the wool festival before they left!” They chuckled and the tense atmosphere eased a bit. “You’ll do your best to come back, won’t you?” Fortinbras fixed Bella with a steady gaze, but she saw the worry in his eyes.

   “Of course.” She said.

   “Even if you can’t bring Kagin back with you?” Donnamira almost whispered it, but Bella heard.

   “Husband or no, I’ll be back if I have to crawl across the Misty Mountains.” Bella gave Fortinbras a firm look. “You keep Camilla and her lot away from my things while I’m away, will you? I’ve set my gardener to look after things, but he’s just one man and Camilla has never been described as easy to handle.” Fortinbras winked and raised his glass with a grin.

   “I’ll have someone ‘round to clean and make sure nothing’s gone missing every once in a while.” He said, before tipping back his glass and finishing off the last of his whiskey. He set the glass on his desk with a thud, sighing. “We just want you back safe, all right?” Fortinbras was as somber now as he was when ruling over disputes as Thain. “If you can bring back that husband of yours, then all the better, but I want you back in one piece, understand? Your children have already lost one parent. Don’t you dare leave them for good.” Bella’s eyes stung, but her voice didn’t waver when she answered.

   “You have my most solemn word that I will do everything in my power to return.”

***

   Fortinbras couldn’t convince Bella to stay the night. She helped Sigismond get the children tucked in, refreshed their supplies with the Tooks’ larder, and set out within two hours of their arrival. It was abrupt, but Bella knew that she’d try to find an excuse to linger if she stayed any longer. Better make a clean break and get it done with now.

   Sigrún turned her back after allowing Bella a goodbye hug, sulking at her mother’s departure. Birla hugged Bella hard, sniffling quietly all the while. Aster sobbed loudly and had to be held back to keep from trying to follow Bella outside. Morion was already asleep and her siblings’ racket didn’t rouse her. Bella bit back tears as she leaned over to give Morion one last kiss.

   Bella left the Great Smials choking back wretched sobs that made her ribs ache and her throat burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm probably going to come back and edit this at some point, but this is as good as it's getting right now.


	12. Chapter 12

**30 June 1317 (Shire Reckoning)**

 

   To be fair, Melo Foxhill was an agreeable sort of person. He laughed easy, spoke with a smile, and had an air of amiable openness about him. His carpentry was solid work; the furniture held under inspection and the smaller statues and carvings were artful without being gaudy. Melo also seemed to have a fair head for business. He handled the sales at his stall well. His customers seemed to like him. Bella was fond of him. Kagin liked him. And yet . . . Perhaps he was too agreeable. Kagin didn’t remember much, he was sure someone had once said that there could be too much of a good thing. Surely a person could be too nice?

   Bella didn’t seem to think so. So, Kagin refrained from saying anything and wondered if maybe he was somehow remembering dwarrow, who surely weren’t as bubbly and outgoing as Melo was.

   Kagin was inspecting a quaint little footstool with small, delicate vines carved down the legs when Melo’s voice interrupted his reverie.

   “What’s that supposed to mean? ‘ere, Kagin,” Melo said as he gestured for Kagin to join his and Bella’s conversation. “Kagin, Bella ‘ere says you don’t know where yer from? ‘ow’s that?” Kagin looked to Bella for guidance. She gave only a small shrug. Kagin sighed. It looked like he was on his own.

   “Madam Fowley says I hit my head rather hard.” Kagin said slowly. “I remember nothing from my life before Miss Bella saved me from the Water.” Melo whipped around to stare at Bella, incredulous.

   “You went an’ dragged him outta the Water? Goodness, Bella, yer sure a great deal braver than I’d be.” His hands fluttered about for a moment until he managed to calm himself down. “Don’ know what I’d do if I found someone half drown in the river!” Bella’s ears pinked. Kagin felt a sudden wave of relief that it had been Bella that found him, not someone else that would have been more likely to fuss until he drowned in the Water.

   “Oh, I don’t think—I mean, it was—er, nothing.” Bella stuttered quietly. She looked anywhere but at Melo and Kagin, the pink spreading down her ears to her cheeks. “It really was nothing.” Kagin coughed. Dragging a half-drown Dwarf, laden with soaked clothes and armor and heavy weapons, was hardly nothing. He doubted there were many hobbits that could do it, even if they wanted to.

   “But you don’ remember? Really?” Melo was bordering on gawking at this point. Kagin glanced around to ensure that no one was eavesdropping. The crowd bustled on around them, heedless of Kagin’s sudden source of discomfort. “What about yer ‘ome? Don’ you want to find out where you’ve come from?” Kagin had to fight the urge to scowl over at Melo. How was that any of his business? They’d just met and here he was, trying to pry into Kagin’s blank slate of a past.

   Thankfully, Bella seemed to sense Kagin’s irritation and piped up.

   “Oh, Melo, honestly, he’ll go looking when he wants to.” She admonished gently. “Now, tell me about that new shipment of walnut wood from the south; Mother’s insisting I get a glory box started before I come of age and I’ve always loved the look of walnut.” Bella shot Kagin a concerned glance. He nodded and went back to taking in the fine workmanship on the footstool.

   As the afternoon drew on, so did the revelry. With each announced winner of the competitions, more kegs of ale were dragged out of storage and more impromptu dances and concerts flared up in the crowd. Belladonna was given first place for her almond cherry cake and Bella downed a tankard of mead in one go in celebration before dragging Kagin and Belladonna off to find the nearest makeshift dancefloor. Kagin declined to dance, this morning’s observation of the maypole dance still fresh in his mind. Instead, he sat next to an elderly gentlehobbit with an ear trumpet while Belladonna and Bella found themselves swept away in the music. He was more than willing to clap and stamp his feet to the beat rather than embarrass himself trying to master a dance like that. He still somehow ended up between two giggly hobbit lasses when the time came for a simple circle dance.

   When the sky grew dark, torches were set in a large perimeter around a bare stretch of grass. A refreshment table was set up, as well as chaperone chairs at the edge of the dancefloor. A low bandstand came next; by then all those still at the festival had gathered on the green and a few had struck up their fiddles, drums, and Kagin even saw a couple people playing the spoons. Kagin found himself nursing an ale near the refreshment table to keep from being pulled into a dance that would surely end in bloodshed. That was where Bella found him after dragging herself away from a doggedly persistent faunt with freckled cheeks and a tight grip.

   “Kagin!” She said breathlessly. Her cheeks were flushed from dancing. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.” Bella helped herself to a glass of punch and came to stand beside Kagin. “You’re not going to learn just by watching, you know.”

   “I’m not going to learn much stepping on your toes either.” Kagin answered with a smile. Bella grinned impishly into her cup. Kagin watched her warily. What was she up to?

   “Punch, Master Kagin?” Bella gestured toward the punch bowl.

   He glanced suspiciously between Bella’s expectant face and the punch. It . . . It couldn’t hurt, could it? Kagin doubted very much that there was anything strong in the punch; no one wanted to be warmed more than they already were on this summer night. Surely one couldn’t hurt?

   Kagin would deny to the grave that a punch from the Shire left him slightly dizzy and stumbling more than swaying to the music while Bella led him across the dancefloor with a laugh and a smile. It couldn’t be known to anyone in Middle Earth that a dwarf was ever put under the table by anything weaker than a strong ale. Kagin pushed this thought to the side and allowed himself to be moved along until it could be said he was dancing, but more likely would be said that Bella was helping him stagger about to the beat. Bella was only slightly better off. Her ears and cheeks were pink as she led Kagin through the other dancers with ease. The sight left him captivated. No one would blame him for following after her so willingly, not anyone with eyes. So he danced—or tried to—and watched Bella’s cheeks grow pinker and her eyes sparkle as the night grew on.

   It was only hours later, as Kagin found himself wandering back to the Green Dragon with an arm over a strange hobbit’s shoulders that he wondered where his boots had gone.

***

   Bella was out fussing in her garden at the crack of dawn. Just one day to go before she put her tomatoes up against the best of the Shire and she was going to make sure she won this time. Bella carefully pulled weeds and checked for signs of disease or pests. She was going to at least place this time, she was sure.

   Belladonna was inside, trying to decide what would be the best place for her ribbon so it would be easily seen the next time Mrs. Fairbush came for tea.

   Kagin wasn’t awake quite so early. In fact, it was well past the crack of dawn and even first and second breakfast when he woke, lying half off his bed with a doily tossed across his eyes and an empty vase hugged to his side. A smith was hammering in his head and something had died horribly in his mouth, he was sure of it. He sat up, the doily falling into his lap, and squinted around the room with a single-minded intention to find the nearest jug of water and drink it dry.

   He ended up making do with a cup of peppermint tea and a light—very light—breakfast of blueberries and crackers. It took him nearly an hour to finish his breakfast and Dipelta spent the whole time giggling every time she saw him. Every time he swallowed, Kagin’s stomach rolled rebelliously, but he soldiered on. It would be even worse if he left without anything to eat. And the peppermint tea was helping to settle things, even if his head was still pounding merrily away. Kagin groaned before taking a small nibble of his cracker. What in the seven kingdoms did they make that punch with?

   It took what seemed like an eternity for Kagin to finish his food, but finally he packed up, fetched his coin purse from his room, and trudged out into the glaringly bright midday sun. And prepared himself for a day of misery.

 

Bella was unnaturally happy for someone who had had much more to drink than he had last night. Today, Kagin noted, Bella was in a dusty pink frock with small periwinkle flowers around the neckline to bring out the blue in her eyes. Along with the clover and daisies woven into her mess of curls, Bella was a fetching sight indeed. It still wasn’t enough to lessen the ache in his head. She greeted Kagin much too loudly when they ran into each other near a table of yarn and unspun wool. Kagin winced and answered with a weak smile. His head still hurt much too much to do anything louder. Bella sidled up to him and hooked her arm through his.

   “And how was your night, Master Kagin?” She asked with a cheeky smile. “I lost track of you after you got drinking with Master Banks.” Kagin grumbled unintelligibly. He was sure he’d never met a Mr. Banks. Bella giggled. “Now, that’s your own fault for underestimating Shire punch. Come, let’s take a walk and try not to talk to anyone.”

   Mrs. Baggins was also too happy to see Kagin squinting in the sun this morning. They stumbled upon her almost an hour after Kagin arrived. She was chatting with Violet Fowley, who had a table laden with salves, teas, and ingredients for medicinal pastes and packs. Violet greeted Kagin with a warm smile before returning to her conversation with Belladonna.

   “Anyway, I told him he’d want to talk to someone else. Didn’t know much about that sort of thing.” Violet said with a chuckle. “Ask a farmer next time, not an apothecary. I treat people not pigs!” Belladonna sniggered.

   “Oh, but he treats her better than his wife; she’s practically a hobbit.” The two of them giggled like schoolgirls until an older woman wandered up and asked Violet for something to help her husband’s snoring. Belladonna joined Kagin and Bella at the other side of Violet’s display. “Hugo Gulch.” She said in explanation. “Treats his prize sow, Fanny, like a queen.” She shook her head and looked on in amusement as Violet explained that she couldn’t actually prescribe anything without seeing the woman’s husband and why couldn’t she bring him around to see her? Apparently this woman’s husband was under the impression that he was physically incapable of snoring and refused to see a professional about it. Belladonna’s head fell to her hand. Bella practically had her fist stuffed in her mouth to keep her laughing quiet. Kagin was struck with a sense of familiarity. A husband refusing to admit he snored. It reminded him of—Kagin shook his head to clear it.

   Violet finally convinced the woman that she couldn’t secretly drug her husband, no matter how much he kept her up at night. Bella was about to crack a rib with her suppressed laughter by the time the ordeal was over. Kagin had given up on trying to hide his smile. Instead, he had his back to the table and was supposedly watching the clouds, though few people watched the clouds with such amusement. Violet, at least, was able to keep a straight face until the woman had gone out of sight. Then she grinned like a fox in the henhouse.

   “Marriage is an awfully funny thing, isn’t it?” She seemed to give Kagin a pointed look, but he couldn’t imagine what she might be hinting at. Bella snorted into her hand.

   Today’s competition was livestock. A great holding area had been set up on the far end of the green, half shaded by the Party Tree to keep the animals comfortable in the summer heat. Bella took Kagin over to play with the sheep that were milling about, ribbons with their owners’ names tied ‘round their necks. She became rather enamored with a black ewe that was entered for highest quality wool from Farmer Alnus. Kagin found himself fond of an obnoxious grey gander that was liable to steal the food off anyone careless enough to wander close. He was able to lean heavily on a fencepost and wait out his hangover as he watched the goose pull the middle out of a passing man’s sandwich and start nibbling on the cheese.

   Bella insisted on another visit to Melo’s stall and this time Kagin was able to enjoy himself much more than before. He gratefully accepted a drag of Melo’s bracing tea and started in a conversation about woodcarving and the finer points of carpentry—mainly the difficulties of choosing wood for furniture that would match a client’s taste and stand the test of time. Kagin had had similar difficulties from the dowagers and fusspots of Hobbiton when they came wanting something practical like cutlery made in a frivolous metal that would tarnish and bend at the slightest provocation. Some people, it seemed, were determined to ignore the impracticality of solid gold spoons set with pearls that were used for more than extremely special occasions. So far, Kagin had managed to steer most away from costly commissions that would take a great deal of upkeep, but there were a few that had been stubborn. They seemed to be the same people that Melo had had trouble with over the years.

   “Mrs. Danae Grenock,” Melo hissed with the amused ire that only distance from an argument could give. Bella sniggered where she sat on one of Melo’s chairs. She must have heard about this woman before. “’ave you had ‘er come ‘round yet?” Kagin shook his head.

   “No, where’s she from?” Melo rolled his eyes and pinched his nose in response.

   “Out in Waymeet.” Melo gestured in the vague direction of Waymeet. “That old bat’s caused me an’ Da almost more trouble than ‘er money’s worth.” Kagin snorted, crossed his arms over his chest, and silently prayed to Mahal that this Mrs. Grenock never darkened his doorstep. “Are dwarves the same? Any vague memories o’ a particularly stuff lord with odd taste in jewelry?”

   “No, none,” Kagin said after a moment’s consideration. Though, he did have a sense of familiarity when talking about frustrating customers and commissions that had nothing to do with fussy hobbits. “But I doubt that’s anything to lament.” He looked to Melo with a smirk. “I’m sure you have more than a few customers you’d love to get knocked out of memory.”

   Bella had gone very quiet and, when Kagin looked to see her reaction to their joking, was giving Kagin an unnerving look. He frowned over at her, but before he could say anything she was shaking her head and asking Melo about his family and how they were doing. She went on to carry a cheerful conversation, but Kagin caught her watching him thoughtfully more than once before they wandered away from Melo’s stall to take another look at the sheep in the competition. Even the ewe she had so fancied earlier couldn’t quite capture her attention. Bella pet the ewe and fed the ducks waiting to be put on stage some sunflower seeds, but there was no cooing and she seemed much more distant that she had before.

   It wasn’t until later, as they wandered around the festival grounds with pasties in their hands that Bella broached the topic. She had casually led Kagin to a quiet area of the field and they strolled through the stalls and displays with contented silence until Bella spoke.

   “Doesn’t it bother you?” She asked quietly. She wasn’t looking at Kagin, but instead off into the distance with a subdued expression.

   “Doesn’t what bother me?” Kagin wasn’t sure he wanted to know where this was going. Bella’s usual smiles and easy nature were gone and took all of Kagin’s reassurance that all was well with them. Bella worried her lip for a moment before answering.

   “Not knowing.” She nearly whispered it. Bella stopped and Kagin nearly tripped to keep from leaving her behind. She looked up at him with a pinched brow and wide eyes. “Not knowing where you’re from, who you were. It’s been months. You haven’t sent any word out of the Shire. Don’t you want to know who you are? Do you want to remember?”

   Silence fell between them as Kagin thought about her words.

   Did he want to remember? He was here now. He was happy. He wasn’t—Someone had—Kagin didn’t like to dwell on it, but there was only one reason a dwarf would find themselves beat to a pulp with their beard shorn and braids cut off. In fact, usually someone didn’t survive the events that led to them to such an end. Did he really want to go searching for his old life? What must it have been like for him to have been attacked in such a way? He was either rather bad or very important and neither of those options were anything Kagin wanted to go poking his nose into. He was . . . There had been an aching exhaustion in him when he woke in the Shire that had nothing to do with his injuries or the tonics that Violet gave him for his pain. It had settled and disappeared in the past months to a contentment that sunk into his very bones and left Kagin refreshed as if he’d woken from a good night’s sleep. Perhaps it was selfish, but Kagin knew that if he went about trying to remember wherever he’d come from, that he wouldn’t be able to keep the happiness he’d earned here.

   “I—I’ve started making a life here,” Kagin finally said, nearly startling himself after the long silence. “My memories are gone; my old life with them. What good would it do to try to return? I’d be living a stranger’s life.” He sighed and Bella nodded absently. “Perhaps in the future, I will send word to the mountains to find family, but for now I’m quite happy with the home I’ve found,” he paused to squelch the sudden fluttering in his stomach, “and the people I’ve come to know.”

   Bella beamed up at him, her cheeks turning pink, her eyes bright and bluer than ever.

   “Well, then,” she said breathlessly. “Then, I suppose—I suppose it’s time to go see if that ewe of mine has won first prize.” She gestured weakly toward where the judges were wandering through the sheep pens. “They’re announcing the winner any minute.”


	13. Chapter 13

**1 May, 1341 (Shire Reckoning)**

 

   Balin was a fount of knowledge and Bella took full advantage of this as they made their way to Bree. She asked about Dwarven lore and legends, trying to keep things light. At her request, he recounted the creation of Dwarrow, more than a few tall tales that she was almost sure were made up on the spot, and grand stories of far off kingdoms whose treasures and wonders had been lost to time. Bella listened with rapt attention to accounts of the halls of Moria in all its glory, before the Durin’s Bane had been loosed. Balin was particularly fond of retelling the original founding of Erebor, hundreds of years ago before Thror and his line had reclaimed the mountain in the Third Age

   In return, Bella told Balin all she could of Shire life. He was surprised to hear of her connection to the Thain—“You’re practically royalty!”—and was greatly amused by tales of fruit and vegetable competitions in years gone by. Dwarrow, apparently, had nothing like that at their festivals.

   “I’m afraid things would end in quite a few family feuds if we did.” And that was all Balin had to say about it, though Bella could swear she heard him muttering about poleaxes and a mead taste test. She filed it away to be pursued later. After all, Bella was going to be traveling with these fine men for almost a year; she had plenty of time to dig up embarrassing stories before they reached Erebor.

   They reached Bree three days after leaving Tuckborough.

   It had been nearly fifteen years since Bella had come to Bree on a business trip with Kagin. She’d missed the town. Her visits with Kagin had always been a high point of the year, especially after they’d met Bofur and Bifur and were able to join them for part of the time they stayed in Bree on business. She wondered if things had changed very much since she’d last been. She shuffled along behind Bofur as Balin approached the gatekeeper with their papers and a few coins in hand.

   “Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve been this far east.” Bella said, looking around at the entrance into Bree. The weather had been dry lately, which was a blessing. Carts rattled along without struggle on the packed dirt road. Unlike the trip on Kagin and Bella’s tenth anniversary, Bella would not be spending her stay here ankle deep in mud. She was tired from her travel, from the sleep she lost thinking about the children, but Bella was glad for that at least as they trudged down the road toward the Prancing Pony where they’d been told to meet the rest of their party.

   “Did you come to Bree often?” Balin asked with polite interest.

   “Oh, yes,” Bella skittered out of the way of a large Man not looking where he was going. “Kagin had some trading in Bree, mostly for ore and other raw materials. He’d come for a month or two every year to maintain things.” She craned her neck to see down the road, but today was a busy day and there wasn’t much room to see far. “I would come along sometimes. We met Bofur and Bifur here.”

   “Really?” Balin said and Bella launched into the tale of how she’d met Bofur late one September afternoon when she’d gotten quite turned around in an unfamiliar neighborhood of Bree. This kept them all the way to the Prancing Pony, where Bella was quite glad to put her bags down after the long day’s travel. She leaned against the wall while Balin approached the barkeep.

   Things had changed quite a bit in the years since Bella had last been here. Old Lorn Butterbur was no longer manning the counter; instead a young man that bore a vague resemblance to Lorn chatted with Balin while searching through his books for the rest of their party. The people were changed and the ale behind the bar was from a different supplier than when Bella had last seen, but it was the same over all atmosphere. She breathed in the heady aroma of mead and pipesmoke and sought out the divot in the bar that had been left by Kagin’s ring during a fistfight with a man that had tried to pull a knife on Lorn.

   “Mistress Boggins!” Kili came barreling out of the crush of Men toward her, a beaming smile on his face. She braced herself as he practically rammed into her. Goodness, but dwarrow were sturdy. “It’s good to see you and the others made it.” Kili threw an arm around Bella’s shoulders, pulling her roughly to his side. “How do you like Bree so far?”

   “It’s Baggins, dear, and I’m liking it just as much as I have the past twenty times I’ve come.” She settled against Kili. She wanted to sit down far too much to pass up a friendly shoulder to lean on. “Have you come here before?” Bella asked with polite interest.

   “Not recently, no.” Kili said. “Not since Thorin—not since I was younger and still learning to trade.”

   Bella caught the slip, but let it pass. She wondered if he was talking about Thorin’s time in the Shire as Kagin, lost to his family in the Blue Mountains. She swallowed hard at the thought of Kili missing his father as keenly as her children had. Suddenly, Bella couldn’t stand to be near Kili. She pulled away abruptly. Kili frowned after her, but all Bella could choke out was that she was going to find her room and needed to lie down for a bit. Before he could say anything or call her back, Bella slipped away into the dining room.

   It wasn’t until dinner was being served, quite a few hours later, that Bella emerged from her room. She had washed herself as best she could in the room’s basin and changed into a fresh set of clothes before collapsing on her bed and falling into a fitful nap. It did nothing but leave her even groggier and more disheveled than she’d been when she laid down. Bella stumbled down the stairs, blinking owlishly against the seemingly bright light of the fireplace and torches around the room.

   The dining room had filled to capacity while she slept. Men, dwarrow, and hobbits sat around tables, talking and laughing and arguing in a cacophony that started a pressure building between Bella’s temples. She slipped easily through the crowd. There was a hot toddy at the bar with her name on it.

   “Bella! Bella!” Bofur found her at the bar an hour and three rowdy uproars of drinking songs later, still nursing her drink and playing with her wedding ring. Bofur stumbled up to the bar with an empty pint in his hand, smiling merrily. “Come join us, Bella!” He grabbed her ’round the waist and attempted to tug her off the barstool. He was three sheets to the wind, smelling strongly of mead and pipe smoke. Bella’s toes and fingers were warm from her drink, but she stayed steady on her seat. She debated whether or not to be a stick in the mud, before allowing Bofur to pull her off the stool and toward the table that a few of the company were crowded around.

   Thorin and Dwalin were absent, as were Dori, Oin, Gloin, and Balin. But Kili, Fili, Bifur, Bombur, Nori, and Ori sat around a low table, well into what must have been their third or fourth round of drinks. Ori’s cheeks and ears were pink. Kili was leaning heavily on his brother’s shoulder while Fili stared stonily at his ale with somewhat clouded eyes. Bifur was sipping quietly at what looked like a tumbler of brandy, muttering softly under his breath. Nori’s fingers found Bella’s belt the second she sat down. She didn’t even notice until she spotted the flash of her Shire mint coins in the low candlelight. Bella watched Nori surreptitiously pay their server with her coins. Let him use her money now. He’d be paying her back later whether he wanted to or not. For now, she would let Nori think he’d gotten the better of her. Nothing lulled a victim of payback better than a false sense of security.

   The night wore on and Bella found herself hoping that the rest of the quest wouldn’t find them with this much alcohol. She was challenged, soon after joining them at their table, to a drinking game.

   “Oh-ho, ye’ve made a mistake!” Bofur laughed as Nori motioned for their server to bring another round for their table. “Bella’s won ev’ry drinkin’ game since she was old ‘nough t’ hold a—a . . .” He trailed off to stare at the bottom of his tankard.

   “A glass, I believe, Bofur.” Bella finished for him. She leveled Nori with an assessing look. “I’ve won every drinking game shoved under my nose since I was big enough to heft my uncle’s pint-sized stein.” Now that was a bit of an exaggeration, but no one needed to know that. She hadn’t, after all, lost a drinking game nigh on twenty years, but it had been after an embarrassing amount of losses in her early years that were no longer discussed. And, of course, that wasn’t taking into consideration the countless parties where she’d skipped all drinking games entirely in order to keep an eye on her children. Still . . . “Care to test your mettle against a hobbit, master dwarf?”

   Nori wasn’t easily baited, but he obviously wanted to see just how well their burglar could hold her liquor compared to the rest of the company. With her husband holed away in his room just seconds away (but he didn’t remember and wouldn’t welcome her presence), his sons across the table (Fili looking so much like Kagin, Kili’s eyes crinkling when he laughed the same way Sigrún’s did), and representing everything Kagin’s life before her had been, Bella was more than happy to aid his curiosity. She instructed the serving girl to split the new round of drinks between herself and Nori and raised the first mug with a challenging grin.

   Bella woke the next morning with the ropes supporting her bed’s mattress very close to her nose. Her head pounded. It tasted like something fuzzy and recently dipped in manure had died horribly and messily in her mouth. Her vision blurred as she blinked up at the underside of her bed. Had she won? It—it shouldn’t have been important, but it was all Bella could think of as she tried to figure out how she’d ended up here, half under her bed. After the twelfth round of drinks, things had gotten slightly fuzzy around the edges. She had vague memories of trying to sneak off to Kagin—Thorin’s room, only to be stopped by Bifur before she got too far. She would have to thank him for that later.

   Her stomach hurt too much to do up her usual bodice, so Bella settled for a fitted vest over a loose shirt and resigned herself to a less supportive day of riding than she’d hoped for. She slowly tucked her shirttails into her skirts as she shuffled out of her room. Her head had stopped spinning—hobbits were always quick to bounce back from hangovers—and her vision cleared by the time she reached the dining room, but Bella knew that it would be a long day for her and anyone that had managed to stay conscious after Ori had passed out under the table.

   Breakfast was toast and weak tea, though Bella managed a few strips of bacon and that was more than Kili was able to choke down. He sat at the table, peaky and silent, and Bella watched with amusement as Fili tried to get him to eat even a nibble of his breakfast. He was, at least, better off than Ori. Ori had taken one look at the table, turned an alarming shade of green, and rushed out of the room all in less than a minute of coming down to join them for breakfast. The whole thing had Bella chuckling into her tea, though her stomach rolled when she thought about laughing too hard.

   As it happened, she had somehow managed to drink not only Nori, but Fili and Bombur under the table the night before, resulting in several shame-faced companions, two handfuls of coin shoved at her before they left the inn, and Nori sheepishly presenting her with a small purse filled to the brim with an actually rather rare mushroom that was worth twice its weight in gold. Bella accepted it, perplexed, with a suitably ominous word of warning to Nori about underestimating hobbits.

   After breakfast, they packed up and loaded up the ponies. It was all going well until everyone else was settled in their saddles and Bella was left with a problem. Bella surveyed her pony warily for a moment, ignoring the impatient noises Dwalin and Gloin were making, before casting around for something to step on.

   “Something wrong, burglar?” Thorin called in an entirely unkind tone. Bella bristled.

   “Not at all, master dwarf.” She said shortly. Bofur, seeing the problem, dismounted and came over to help her up. With his boost, Bella was able to clamber into her saddle without having to jam her foot into a stirrup that was made for a much smaller foot than her own. Hobbits rarely rode, but when they did they needed Man sized stirrups on a Dwarf sized saddle to accommodate for their large feet. Bella wasn’t sure who had supplied their party with the ponies in Hobbiton, but they obviously hadn’t been expecting Bella to be accompanying them on their journey. Bella turned to give Thorin as obnoxiously serene a smile as she could manage. “Ready if you are.”

   The way out of Bree was quiet enough, though Bella caught sight of an old gem supplier that Kagin used to do business with and had to take a slight detour to talk to him to avoid an awkward encounter with Thorin. He scowled, but settled for quietly offering his condolences and slipping Bella a string of green tourmaline and smoky quartz.

   “For your journey ahead, _mesem_.” He said and then Bella was urging her pony forward to catch up with the others.

 

The first weeks of travel were . . . uneventful. Bella chose that word one night, as she sat by the fire, because the words she wanted to use were completely inappropriate and crude. Thorin was a complete ass and more than half the company were asses along with him.

   Thorin seemed to have decided that Bella was a completely incompetent idiot. Anything that could be done wrong, she did it wrong. Mounting her pony was an exercise in patience as Thorin led the chorus of grumbles about her inability to get into a saddle on her own (Bella would have to buy a new pair of stirrups in the next town they reached). Working on her letters while she rode, her pony’s bridle in Bofur’s hand and her pen cradled gingerly between broken fingers, was a point of quiet derision as Dwalin and Dori muttered together in Khuzdul about Hobbits’ strange habits. Her allergic reaction to her pony’s hair was met with snickering as she thoroughly used up her handkerchief on her sore nose and watering eyes—never mind that she never actually voiced a complaint to anyone but Bifur and Bofur about how much her nose itched.

   Only Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur seemed willing to openly show any kindness to Bella. Balin was distant, but polite and yet did nothing to curb Thorin’s snide comments about Bella’s capabilities. Ori was sweet, but he thought too much of Dori’s opinion and Dori, in turn, thought too much of Thorin’s to oppose his edict that their burglar was a simpleton. Kili didn’t seem to mind her and even attempted to ride next to her on a couple occasions setting out, but Fili’s quiet disapproval and obvious want to follow Thorin’s example left Kili riding father and father from Bella as they traveled on. At least he managed to look a little upset about being made to avoid her.

   Everyone else maintained a cold distance from Bella. They were . . . tolerant enough. There were no deliberate attempts to sabotage her pack or fiddle with her things. No one went out of their way to make Bella more miserable than she already was. But they chortled amongst themselves, whispered, and even talked loud enough for Bella to hear—though they must have thought she couldn’t understand their language—all while keeping a wide berth around her when they made camp.

   Despite Bofur and his kin keeping her company, Bella felt more isolated now than the first months after her father had died, living all by herself in Bag End with her grief-stricken mother.

   She spent her days riding between Bifur and Bofur, catching them up on her family in quiet tones while she worked on embroidering kerchiefs and writing letters to the children—to be posted at the next available opportunity. She avoided looking too closely at Thorin where he rode at the head of their party and at Fili and Kili as well. It was too painful. They looked too much like Kagin for comfort. A glance at either one of them had her remembering all the gossip that had flown through Hobbiton when Peony Cooper had had a son by Primrose Graupel’s husband. Bella lay awake at night, staring up at the stars and wondering if Thorin’s wife would ever forgive her for what she’d done. Was it infidelity if neither party knew that one of them was already married?

   So, yes, Bella could say that the first days out of Bree were trying to say the least. But she had her kin. She had parchment and ink and a pen to write to the children with. She had had enough time to pack so she wasn’t left borrowing things from her companions. She had her dear friends with her and—and at least she knew that, for now, the man that had been her husband was safe and whole. She sat on her pony, legs sore and healing fingers still aching, and tried to look on the bright side of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone who's been leaving kudos and reviews! You guys rock. Every time I get a notification for this fic, it totally makes my day. :)


	14. Chapter 14

**2 nd Lithe Day 1317 (Shire Reckoning)**

 

   Kagin was much smarter about things the second time around and kept clear of the punch when the dancing started that night. So, he was able wake the next day, free of a hangover and much readier to face the day than he had been yesterday. Yes, Bella had been robbed of her amusement and was unable to convince him to do more than join a circle dance, but it made it so Kagin could join the festivities when they began instead of hours after.

   The third day of the festival marked the fruit and vegetable competition. Bella was up before the sun, out in the garden, and had inspected and selected her best tomatoes by the time Belladonna was getting out of bed. She carefully laid them in a basket and sent a prayer to Yavanna for luck. She had been so close last year. Surely, she would at least place this time.

   “I’m sure you’ll do fine, love.” Belladonna said as Bella checked her tomatoes for the fourth time since setting them down on the kitchen table not half an hour before. “Don’t be so nervous.”

   “I’m not nervous.” Bella muttered. “Just . . . anticipating some competition and trying to prepare for it.” She fussed over the kerchief she’d placed over her basket and finally joined Belladonna for a quick breakfast before they left.

   Despite her claims otherwise, Bella all but hummed with nervous energy as she and Belladonna made their way down to the Party Tree.

   It was still early yet; most vendors were still setting up their booths for the last day of the festival as the Baggins family made their way toward the table where the competition entrants had been told to bring their things. The three hobbits manning the tables greeted them cheerily and helped Bella to find her place between the eggplants and the radishes. She surreptitiously checked her tomatoes’ competitors as she settled her basket on the table. There weren’t many there yet. A basket of yellow pear tomatoes here. Some brandywines there. But it would fill up before noon. Bella took her number from a helper and went to see if Violet could spare some mint to chew for her nerves.

   Bella was chewing her third mint leaf when Melo and Holman Greenhand ran into her. They were carrying a large grandfather clock between them and looking quite out of breath when they stopped for a rest.

   “’Mornin’ Bella!” Holman called. They carefully set the clock down as Bella approached them. “Excited ‘bout the competition? Gale says ye’ve got yer tomatoes in again this year.” He wiped at his brow with a handkerchief.

   “Oh, yes, excited.” Bella said softly. Excited was one way to put it. “What’s this here, Melo?” She gestured to the clock. “I didn’t think you and your father had an interest in making clocks.” Bella reached out to touch the finely carved wood with reverence. “It is a fine thing, though.”

   “Well, er, we didn’ make it really.” Melo ran a hand through his hair, looking chagrined. “Turns out Daisy’s been sneakin’ into the shop after hours an’ workin’ on ‘er carvin’. Didn’ wan’ anyone t’ know ‘til it was done.” He regarded the clock. “Got all the workin’ pieces from Frogmorton. Worked most ‘f it out on ‘er own.” Bella raised a brow.

   “Heavens, she’s a clever girl. All those moving bits; I’d never be able to make sense of it.” Bella cast another look over the clock. “Tell Daisy she’s done wonderful work.”

   “Master Kagin,” Holman waved as Kagin wandered by, his nose in a small book. He looked curiously up and smiled when he spotted their group.

   “’Morning.” He strolled over to join them by the clock. “Master Greenhand, Master Foxhill, Miss Baggins.” Kagin pocketed his book and turned his attention to the clock that they were all gathered around. “This is a fine piece of work, Master Foxhill.” He said. “I’m sure it won’t be long before you have an offer for it today.”

   “I was jus’ tellin’ Bella, it’s my sister, Daisy, that’s made it.” Melo ran a hand down the side of the clock with an expression of great pride. Kagin nodded in understanding.

   “Well, it’s fine work either way; it’s nearly as good as a master’s.” Melo puffed with pride.

   “Thank you, Master Kagin. I’ll be sure to tell her you said so.” Without further ado, he and Holman picked up the clock and continued on their way to the Foxhills’ area.

   Kagin watched them go with fondness before his gaze fell to Bella. She stood closer than necessary and looked up at him with a soft smile for a moment. Kagin quite forgot what he was going to say. Something about second breakfast, perhaps. Or maybe it had been . . . Bella brought her hand to her mouth and started nibbling on the leaves she held. The oddity of it broke Kagin’s stupor.

   “And what are you chewing now?” He teased because there didn’t seem to be a green thing that Hobbits hadn’t tried to eat at one time or another. Bella grinned and started off toward the Party Tree.

   “It’s mint. To help settle my stomach.” She said lightly, still munching on her bundle of mint.

   “Are you ill, Miss Baggins?” Kagin asked. He surveyed his companion. Bella didn’t look sick. Perhaps a bit anxious.

   “Only in the way that comes with nerves and having your tomatoes up for the whole town to see.” Bella plucked a single leaf from the rest and popped it into her mouth. Something deep in Kagin prickled indignantly at the sight, but instead of scowling, he laughed.

   “Here’s hoping you win.” He chuckled. “If only so you don’t have to keep eating those leaves.” Bella shot him a teasing grin.

   “What’s wrong with my leaves?” She asked. Kagin only smiled more.

   “You look like a rabbit, nibbling like that.” He reached over to give one of the twin plaits her hair was in today a light tug. “Floppy ears, wide eyes, and a mouthful of greens.” Bella’s aforementioned wide eyes narrowed.

   “You imp!” She reached over to slap at him with her handful of mint. Kagin groaned theatrically and clutched his arm. Such a mighty blow would surely keep him from work for the next week. “That won’t win any sympathy from me, master dwarf.” Bella turned from him, grumbling, “Rabbit indeed.”

   They wandered hither and thither across the field. Bella bought new hairpins and cooed over bolts of fabric on display under a tent to protect from the sun. Kagin followed along happily. Every so often, one of them would stop to goggle at a table of wares. The other would either wait patiently for them to lose interest or else join them in their perusing. They were both quite taken by the stall that had been set up by Sam Brookend, owner of Hobbiton’s bookshop, with neat shelves of books that ranged from quaint novels to hefty almanacs.

   “Back again, eh, Master Kagin?” Sam Brookend greeted them merrily from his seat. Kagin had been through earlier that morning and purchased a small book of Shire fairytales and lore. He had rather endeared himself to Sam when, upon nearly collapsing a set of shelves, took some time out of his day to quickly set a temporary screw into the bookshelf and offered to come by Sam’s shop the next day to get it fully repaired.

   “Oh, yes,” Kagin answered. “Miss Baggins is just as fond of the written word as I am. Though, having been a customer her whole life, I’m sure you know that already.” Bella gave Sam a warm smile and wave.

   “Of course, Master Kagin.” Sam said. “Miss Bella here has been an avid reader since she was knee-high to a grasshopper. You’ve bought enough books to start a library of your own up in Bag End, haven’t you?” The last bit was addressed to Bella. Suddenly, she was all flustered and demure and mumbling about how she could never hope to compare to her own parents’ collection of books. Sam chuckled. “Now, now, Miss Bella, don’t be so modest. Old Master Bungo would be proud to see how much you care for his library.” Bella afforded him a shy smile.

   “I certainly hope so.” She said quietly.

   As if to prove her ability to maintain her family’s library, Bella bought five new books before they left Sam. Two were histories of the land directly to the west of the Shire, including the Gray Havens, and one was a biography of a king of the late Second Age, hailing from farther east than Bella had ever heard of, and the last two were the next installments in a series of mysteries that Bella and Belladonna had been waiting for with baited breath. Kagin offered to carry her books for her and found himself leaving Sam Brookend’s stall with Bella’s parcel under one arm. Bella quickly made use of his free arm, looping hers through his, and they took off down the walkway with a happy air.

   The two of them were content to pass their morning and early afternoon this way until it was announced that judging was about to begin on the entrants into the best tomato category. Bella nearly jumped into a frenzy, dragging Kagin over to the competition’s tables where five judges were crowded around the section of tomatoes that had been submitted. They leaned close to each basket and bowl, quill and parchment at the ready to take notes on the fruit handed up for their judgement.

   “Oh, there it is!” Bella grabbed Kagin’s arm, all excited squeals and bright eyes, and pointed to her basket. “That one’s mine.” It was being inspected closely by a squat hobbit with a kind face. He looked happy. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll place this time. I was so close last year.”

   “If your tomatoes are half as good as the rest of the turnout from your garden, I’m sure they’ll win first prize.” Kagin assured her. Bella beamed up at him before resuming her post just shy of the end of the table where the judges stood.

   Half an hour’s deliberation later and Bella was standing by her basket, grinning from ear to ear as she was presented with third place prize—a lovely ribbon and a cherry pie from Mrs. Foster. The judges came and shook the winners’ hands and wished the first prize winners luck in the best in show that would be coming later on.

   As soon as the congratulations were over, Bella rushed to Kagin where he stood off to the side, took him by the hands, and spun him in a circle, whooping all the while.

   “I did it! I placed.” She crowed and not even the discouraging looks from her Aunt Camilla could dampen her spirits. Kagin shared in her joy for it was a marvelous thing to see. Bella never looked better than when she was laughing as she was now. “Third prize and it was almost second, if not for that one small spot. I did it! Mother.” Belladonna had joined them for the judging and was sitting nearby, nursing a mug of ale. “Mother, I won third place.” She waved the ribbon like a signal flag. Belladonna smiled serenely at her daughter.

   “Congratulations, dear. Come here and let me see.”

   That day, the dancing started before sunset. As soon as the winner for best of show was awarded to a farmer with a truly impressive watermelon, a dance floor was cleared and a bandstand was erected. In no time at all, the ladies and gentlehobbits that had traveled far to join the festivities were dancing and drinking to their hearts’ content. Bella coaxed Kagin into joining her and Dipelta for a simple dance. Kagin succeeded in stumbling only twice and managed not to step on anyone’s toes, despite his fears.

   “Take yer shoes off!” Dipelta nearly yelled. The two mugs of mead she’d had while Bella was convincing Kagin onto the dance floor had loosened her tongue and pinked her cheeks. “It’ll be easier if you can feel what you’re doin’.” Kagin had allowed himself a small cup of punch earlier and was much more inclined to follow silly requests than he usually was. Dipelta laughed with abandon as Kagin kicked off his boots and threw them to the far side of the dance floor. “There you go!” She crowed. “We’ll make a right hobbit of you yet.”

   Somehow, the three of them survived the set without injury and, when it was over, the band struck up a quick reel that left Kagin in the dust. Bella refused, however, to let him sit down. She pulled him to one side of the floor where other dancers were scarce and set about trying to teach him this new dance.

   “No, step here—there you go. And then this goes here.” Kagin was behind her with one hand at her waist and the other in her outstretched hand. While the rest of the crowd whirled around them, they slowly worked their way through the steps of the dance. “And step, step, turn.” Bella patiently waited as Kagin stumbled after her. “Now we part and—” Their hands stretched between them until just their fingers were touching “—good. And turn, turn, step to the left. Step, step—oh! No, it’s fine, Master Kagin.” He still apologized profusely for squashing her toes. “We hobbits have sturdy feet, sir. No harm done.” She smiled up at him and suddenly Kagin could think of no better place for the two of them to be—here, in each other’s arms, the world warm from drink and good cheer—now or ever again.

      The realization caused him to come to an abrupt stop. Bella, expecting him to keep moving with her, dropped his hand by accident and was a couple steps away before she realized her partner had not come with her. Her skirts swished around her calves as she spun to face Kagin, brows pulled together in confusion.

      “Master Kagin?” Her voice was barely heard over the noise of the band. Kagin felt as though the world had dropped out from under him and the warmth of the punch he’d had was swiftly gone, replaced by a queasy feeling that precipitated a strange swooping in his gut. “Are you all right?” Bella was at his side in an instant, all concerned for his rapid change in mood. “Did you have too much punch?”

      Kagin couldn’t bring himself to answer. Instead, he was struck by Bella’s bright eyes and handsome face and wondered how he didn’t realize it sooner that he could easily see himself spending the rest of his days making her happy.

      “Come, you should sit down.” Bella had taken him by the hand and nearly gotten him to a table when Kagin managed to shake himself from his daze.

      “I’m sorry, Miss Baggins, I suddenly thought of something . . . unexpected.” His throat was dry and the words caught, but he choked them out. Bella glanced back at him with worry.

      “Did you remember something?” She seemed reluctant to ask. They were nearing the tables. Kagin was looking forward to sitting down for a moment, even if he physically wasn’t yet tired.

      “Not at all.” He said. “I just—I came to a realization that’s all.”

      Bella wasn’t sure what to make of Kagin’s words or of his interruption to their impromptu dance lesson, which she had thought was going well. It wasn’t at all reassuring to turn back to find your dance partner looking as though they’d been struck across the head with a beam. And Kagin’s suddenly shifty mood did nothing to alleviate Bella’s worry that perhaps something very wrong had just occurred and she had no idea what. She swallowed hard, refusing to give voice to any of the worries passing through her mind—though they were a great many indeed.

      “And what is that?” She asked with no small amount of trepidation.

      Kagin looked out over the crowd when he answered, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes and making him look years younger than he was.

      “I think I might be in danger of being very, very happy here.”

      Bella tried to follow his gaze out into the crowd, but saw no one that might bring about this revelation from Kagin. Unless, of course, he could see something or someone that she couldn’t.

      What in the world could that mean, anyway? Wasn’t he happy already? He had friends and a good living and a comfortable place to lay his head. Did he not want to be happy here? Was his talk earlier of leaving his past in the past just that: just talk? Perhaps his great revelation might be that he actually did want to leave the Shire, after all, and go searching for his family wherever they might be. Bella couldn’t account for the tears that stung her eyes at the thought. It wasn’t as though they’d really known each other very long. She had no say or influence over whether or not Kagin decided to stay in Hobbiton. No matter what this mysterious revelation of his was, Bella would simply have to be happy for her friend and wish him well in his endeavors.

      Quickly, Bella changed the subject by offering to get Kagin a drink to help calm his mind. He relented after some insistence and settled in his seat to wait for Bella to join him again.

      It wasn’t long before someone sat at the seat next to his, but it wasn’t Bella that came to say hello. Instead, it was Belladonna. She was holding a mug of what smelled like hard cider and had a shawl across her shoulders despite the mild weather. She pulled up a chair and sat down without so much as a glance to Kagin.

      They sat together in silence for a long moment. Kagin was about to ask what had brought her over when Belladonna took a sip of her drink and broke the silence.

      “You’re a good man, Master Kagin.” She started. “And, though you may not be familiar with all our ways, I’m sure you understand the basic etiquette of certain inquiries that must be made in the course of particular relationships.” Kagin contemplated the tabletop for a breath before taking the bait.

      “Ma’am?” He looked to find Belladonna regarding him most thoughtfully. Her eyes were sharper than ever and Kagin could see the woman that had had a hand in raising Bella to the fine person she was today.

      “When the time comes, I would like the courtesy of a visit before you go rushing into anything.” With that cryptic statement, Belladonna threw back the rest of her drink and left Kagin to wonder what in Mahal’s name she was talking about.


	15. Chapter 15

**23 May, 1341 (Shire Reckoning)**

 

   Kili, Valar bless him, was a tactless boy and, really, this couldn’t be helped.

   Usually, it was a point of amusement and entertainment as Bella watched from afar the antics that he and Fili got up to. He had all the subtlety of a frying pan to the face and the careful maneuvering of a newly walking pup on ice. Fili was only slightly better. Together, they romped from one end of the company to the other, ruffling feathers and upsetting their elders as they went.

   Thorin’s unspoken edict that Bella be ostracized mostly kept her safe from the boys’ silliness. However, there was the rare occasion that their boredom got the best of them or Dwalin was keeping too close an eye on them to allow for their usual stunts. This was when Kili would hang back until he was riding alongside Bella and pester her with questions and comments until her teeth were on edge. Fili took part in these conversations only, it seemed, to keep an eye on Kili’s interaction with their resident burglar.

   Just over three weeks after they left Bree, the good weather that had graced them so far disappeared. A torrential downpour started one morning and had yet to let up after two days.

   The company’s mood soured with each passing moment spent with wet socks and damp hair in their eyes. Antagonizing a Dwarf member of their party would, no doubt, be a spectacularly stupid idea. Bothering Gandalf would end in threats to turn the offending party into a toad or something equally unsavory. Bella wasn’t sure why the boys thought that she would, somehow, be a less formidable foe than the others. Perhaps they simply didn’t realize that she was in the process of raising five children directly related to them. Whatever it was, Bella found herself sandwiched between Fili and Kili during the second afternoon of pelting rain and wondered what—aside from having a family with someone else’s husband—she’d done in her life to deserve these two boys.

   “Mistress Boggins,” Kili interrupted her melancholy contemplation of water dripping down Myrtle’s mane. She would look up, but that meant getting a slap of cold rainwater to the face. “Mistress Boggins,” Kili started again. Bella wondered if simply ignoring him would make him realize that her name wasn’t Boggins. “Fili and I were wondering,” meaning, he had been wondering, “how come your _‘afhu-ashhân_ —” Fili hissed like a cat that had been trod on and Kili quickly changed his words “—er, your marriage bead is made of wood.” Bella’s marriage bead was just barely hanging out of her hood, not that anyone else was really close enough to see. She hastily tucked her braid behind her ear to avoid further scrutiny.

   “Because that’s what my husband wished it to be made of.” She said testily. Was it at all polite to ask such questions? The beads that one made for their spouse upon engagement were highly personal and reflected to all the world what your partner meant to you. Surely it wasn’t good form to ask after the decisions behind whatever material was used for them? “He thought this would suit me far better than silver and he was right, I suppose.”

   “What does it mean?” It was the first time Fili had addressed her since they’d left Bag End. Bella found herself looking up at him despite the rain in her eyes.

   “What?” She nearly squawked. It was hard to hear properly over the rain.

   “What does the wood mean?” Fili half-shouted as a wave of rain crashed down on them harder than ever. “Or do Hobbits not have a language for that?” Oh, that’s what he was after.

   “We do,” Bella pulled her hood out farther so as to keep her vision as clear as possible. She could hardly see Bifur’s pony in front of her as it was. “Er, it’s cherry wood, so it stands for love, affection, fertility; it’s a grounding thing as well. It’s all good for a new marriage or even an older one, much like silver is for a dwarf marriage.” She left it at that.

   There was a drawn out silence as they trudged ever onward. Myrtle gave a great shake of her mane and sent water flying into Bella’s face. She blinked hard and wiped at her eyes with her already soaked handkerchief. Fili seemed to be having similar issues with his own mount. The pony had responded in kind to Myrtle’s shaking and was now trying to rid itself of as much water off its coat as possible. It was all Fili could do to keep hold of his reigns.

   Finally, the ponies settled down and Kili spoke again.

   “What sorts of things do those mean?” He was gesturing to the small clovers embroidered on the corners of Bella’s cloak.

   “These? They’re clovers. Four-leaf clovers are good luck. On a cloak, it’s meant for safe travels.” Fili nodded sharply and fell silent.

   Two days later, it was still raining. Bella was thinking longingly of her warm hearth in Bag End when Dori spoke up from directly in front of her.

   “Here, Mister Gandalf,” he called to where Gandalf rode at the front of their line, “can’t you do something about this deluge?” Bella bit back a snigger. It was a noble attempt, but she had yet to see Gandalf ever do anything to change weather, for better or worse.

   “It is raining, Master Dwarf,” Gandalf sounded more than a little put out. Bella hoped he would provide an opportunity for her to heckle him, just a little. She’d had a very long few days and Gandalf always had such hilarious reactions to her heckling. “It will continue to rain until the rain is done.” Bella wondered if this was about to go the same way it had when they’d all thought Gandalf was a dragon slayer. “If you want to change the weather, you must find yourself another wizard.”

   Not a minute later and Bella was able to heckle Gandalf like she’d wanted. He opened himself up with that comment about great wizards and Bella, ever the Took, pounced like a cat on string. Gandalf grumbled under his breath about insolent hobbits for a good while until Kili got too rowdy for his pony’s liking and ended up on his ass in a muddy puddle as Tulip cantered off into the underbrush. Dori, being the closest, gave a yell and started his own pony after her while Fili dismounted to help Kili out of the mud. Bella giggled, but a sharp look from Dwalin had her retreated as deep into her hood as she could manage.

   The rain let up a few days later and Bella couldn’t be more relieved. The first night of dry weather, she helped stoke a large campfire and hung her wet things up to dry. Bofur sat and talked to Bella as she worked, puffing at the pipe that he could finally get to light after so long in the rain.

   “You’re kidding!” Bella cried when Bofur related the story of a woman that had tried getting free repair for a carving she’d “woken up to find split in half” according to Bofur.

   “Am not.” Bofur gave a particularly hard puff of his pipe and lazily blew out the smoke. “Looked like she’d gone over it with a cart ‘n she wanted t’ know why I wouldn’t give ‘er a free repair f’r it.” Bella snorted as she draped her absolutely drenched cloak across a frame she’d erected in front of the fire.

   “ _Lalkhûna_ ,” Bifur grumbled to the small horse he was carving. “ _Lulkh ilkunul ma'gimi aya tada amsâl ikfên ra azrul nê jalamakini._ ”

   “’ey,” Bofur pointed with his pipe to Bifr with a right-on-the-nose expression. Bella chortled quietly.

   Across the small clearing they’d made camp in, Thorin watched their exchange.

   Mistress Bella Baggins had been a nuisance since they’d left the Shire. She was in no way qualified to be their burglar on this venture. She obviously had never been past the borders of the Shire before, clearly had no experience as a burglar, and was entirely inept at anything that might make her useful to the company. Nearly a month on and she still needed help up into her saddle every morning, though Bofur hadn’t complained about his continued assistance yet. She was too soft for this journey—too inexperienced. Thorin knew that she had no place in the wilds of Middle Earth.

   She cooked, Balin had pointed out once when he’d caught Thorin grumbling about their incompetent burglar. Every night, Bella chopped vegetables or seared meat or stoked the fire to help Bombur prepare dinner for all of them. And she _could_ ride, she just seemed incapable of getting into her saddle on her own. There seemed to be something wrong with her stirrups, if her quiet grumbling was any indication. Balin was always cautiously, diplomatically bringing up Bella’s strong points when one Thorin’s tirades made him feel uncomfortably like he was betraying Bella’s confidence.

   Balin wondered, as he watched Thorin’s gloomy mood grow darker, if he was about to hear another itemization of Bella’s faults. It wasn’t something he wanted to listen to again.

   Despite their acquaintance, Balin had grown fond of Bella. Their short travel down to her family’s home and then up to Bree had given him a chance to get to know her outside the large group of the company that, no doubt, made Bella feel more than a little wrong-footed and turned around. She was a smart woman. While she obviously had never truly lived on the road before, Bella wasn’t complaining any more than anyone else was about cold nights or roots in their backs or watery soup. She picked things up quickly, kept to herself probably to avoid upsetting Thorin further than she inexplicably already had, and, despite their treatment of her, was always ready with a polite smile to talk to any of her traveling companions (not that there was much opportunity; Balin’s kin seemed to take Thorin’s grumpy behavior as a prohibition of any friendly interaction with Bella). Thorin was wrong about her, Balin knew this, and he wasn’t sure why Thorin had taken such a violent opposition to Bella’s presence in their company.

   Bella was untested, yes, but so was Ori and, to a lesser extent, Fili and Kili were also. It had been years, Balin knew, since he or Bofur’s family or Dori or most of the company for that matter had been out of the Blue Moutains for anything but short business expeditions. The farthest Balin had gone in nearly twenty years was to Tuslû Babunâl, just a fortnight’s travel north of Thorin’s Halls, to renegotiate their contract with the weavers’ guild there. Since settling in Ered Luin, there had simply been no need to travel far, unless one was hired to guard a caravan on a long trip. Balin’s old bones were already reminding him of this, just weeks into their journey. He was sure that even the least experienced members of the company would probably manage life on the road better than Balin could now at his age . . . Except for Thorin—who was always traveling from one village to another to carry out his kingly duties—and Dwalin—who went wherever Thorin went—the company was probably on even footing when it came to the extensive travel they would be facing in the next months.

   It was rather unfair of Thorin, Balin thought, to deliberately see only Bella’s faults when she clearly had good qualities to recommend herself. He was, however, wise enough not to say this to his king and walked over to join a conversation between Dori and Gloin.

   It was rather unfair of anyone, Thorin thought, to expect him to allow someone with no tie to their people and no need to sacrifice themselves on what was, admittedly, a suicide mission to do just that. He was, however, unwilling to admit that this was the real problem with bringing Mistress Baggins along, even to himself and, with a sharp growl under his breath, turned from the sight of Bofur and Bella chatting and stomped off into the night.

   While Thorin’s brooding had gone unnoticed, his abrupt departure from camp had not. Bella caught sight of him leaving from the corner of her eye and watched him go with all the futility of her situation weighing down on her. Not for the first time since she’d joined the company on their quest, Bella wondered if what she was doing was at all fair to Thorin or herself.

   “Hey,” Bofur noticed her preoccupation and tugged her skirt to get her attention. His eyes were kind as he shook his head minutely toward Thorin. “Don’t let it get t’ ye, lass.” Bofur patted the space on the log next to him. “C’mon, sit down.” He pulled some cram out of his pack and handed it over to Bella. She nibbled on it, not really in the mood to eat very much. “Talked much with Ori yet?” Bella’s sour look was more than enough answer. “I think ye should. He’s awful smart, loves books. I think ye’d get along.”

   “What?” Bella said sharply, but Bofur was already getting up to go find Ori. “Wha—no, no, _Bofur_.” He was already around the fire and Bella would have had to make a scene to get him to stop whatever he thought he was doing.

   Ori was sitting nearly directly across the fire from Bella, knitting a long scarf while talking quietly with Bombur, Nori, and Kili. They spoke quietly for a moment, Bofur gesturing over to Bella. Ori’s gaze followed Bofur’s motions and met Bella’s. Bella flashed an awkward smile and looked away. What was Bofur doing? Surely he didn’t think he’d be able to get Ori to talk to her? Dori wasn’t with Ori at the moment, but he wasn’t far. He would have something to say about Ori coming to speak with Bella, no matter what Bofur was using to lure him over to her. She watched warily as Bofur continued to gesture and Ori eventually rose to his feet and followed him back across the fire. Not, Bella noticed, without a furtive glance to where Dori was chatting with Balin and Gloin.

   Bofur had Ori sit right next to Bella on her log and took a seat on the ground on her other side. There was a moment of awkward silence during which Bella wondered if Bofur was really going to make her start this conversation when it had been all his idea, but then Bofur cleared his throat and looked up at Ori.

   “Well, go on, ye said ye would.” He prompted. Bella frowned at Bofur, then Ori, then Bofur again.

   “You would what?” Well, now Ori had the same shifty look that Birla always got when she’d done something she knew Bella wouldn’t be happy about. It was all Bella could do to keep from grabbing one or both of her companions by the ear to interrogate them.

   “Well, er, Master Bofur said you’d be willing to tell me a bit about the Shire.” Ori said shyly. Bella’s surprise must have shown, because Ori was suddenly all fumbling words and awkward blushing. “It’s just—I mean, I’ll be asking everyone—I-I just meant to start—er, I mean . . . You’re the only person in our company whose cultural background and customs are going to be unknown to anyone reading documentation of our journey—not that I expect it to be solely my work, of course—and I’ve been hoping to ask you some questions about yourself and the Shire since you joined us, but, er . . .” He trailed off, hesitantly but not without a quick glance around to see where Dori was sitting. Bella couldn’t help but raise a combative brow when Ori turned back to her.

   “And here I was thinking Dwarrow were a brave and courageous lot.” She teased. Ori’s ears turned pink along with his freckled cheeks. Bella let him flounder for a moment before having pity and changing the subject. “Well, now that you’ve found your courage, what would you like to know?”

   “Oh, uh,” Ori quickly flipped through the large notebook he’d brought over to a blank page and started fumbling with his writing tools. Bella waited patiently while Ori got his things put together. When he finally had his quill prepared, he stared thoughtfully down at the page for a moment, then spoke. “I suppose we could start with the founding of the Shire. Or where hobbits come from. Do you know which of the Valar created you?”

   Bella smiled. Valar and the Shire and history, these were all things she could talk about for hours on end. She’d spent nearly her whole life reading on such topics, among others. Bofur was grinning also. He knew of Bella’s deep love of history.

   “Well, there’s actually been quite some debate about where hobbits come from over the years.” Bella tried to speak quietly, but Nori had noticed their conversation, as had Kili and Fili, and she was sure she saw them turn their heads to hear her better despite the appearance of continuing in their own conversations. Gandalf, who was sitting close enough to hear without straining, seemed to settle in for a night of storytelling. “Some say we’re descended from some shorter strain of elves—it’s the ears you see—and others think we might be an early model of Dwarrow, before Mahal got the form perfected.” The scratching of Ori’s pen pleasantly added to the crackle of the fire and the quiet murmuring from the rest of the company. Bella relaxed further into her makeshift seat. “We hobbits, however, have always felt a deep connection to plants and the earth. Whatever the Big Folk think, the idea that we were made by Mahal is probably closer to the reality of it than anything. The most prevalent legend among hobbits is that he made us as a gift for his wife, Yavanna, to act as stewards over her domain in Middle Earth. We don’t worship her, per say, but we do pay her special attention out of the Valar and you’ll find some hobbits that pray to her for good crops.” Bella smiled fondly. Ori wrote quickly but neatly in his book.  “She’s our favorite. You might hear me cursing or swearing by Yavanna over the course of our quest.”

   Ori interviewed her for a while longer. After discussing the founding of the Shire, she moved onto fairytales. As she recited a few stories by rote, Bella noted a few of the others moving closer out of the corner of her eyes. Kili didn’t even try to hide his listening. He got up and moved over to sit nearer to her, Ori, and Bofur. The others were attempting to be subtler, but by the time Bella finished her recount of the Fairy Bride, she looked up to see nearly the whole company’s eyes on her. She faltered for a moment before giving her attention back to Ori.

   “Would you like to hear another?” She asked quietly. Ori finished his last sentence with a small flourish.

   “Actually,” he started in a small voice, “I was hoping to ask you a little bit about yourself.” Bella shot Bofur a wide-eyed look, but he just kept puffing on his pipe.

   “What would you like to know?” She asked cautiously. There were some things she simply wouldn’t say no matter how long she spent getting to know her companions.

   “Well, er, I suppose we could start with when you were born.” Ori seemed to realize that maybe Hobbit women were like Men women and didn’t like being asked about their age. “For future record, that’s all. People like to know that sort of thing.” He said quickly, ears turning pink.

   “Don’t fret, Master Ori,” Bella said reassuringly, “some hobbits take offense at questions about their age, but I’m not one of them and neither are the majority of hobbits you might meet. I was born September twenty-second in the year twelve ninety, Shire reckoning.” Ori nodded along as he wrote.

   “Twelve ninety—and this year is thirteen forty you said—so that’s fifty—fifty?” Ori’s writing came to a screeching halt. He looked up at Bella with wide eyes. “Fifty? You’re only fifty?”

   The chatter that had risen around the fire died as quickly as a candle’s flame on a blustery night. If there had been anyone unaware of Bella’s discussion with Ori before, they were paying attention now. Even Thorin from where he’d gone to commune with the ponies turned to stare over at her incredulously. Gandalf, the imp, was watching with amusement twinkling in his eyes as he smoked his long pipe.

   “Erm,” Bella wasn’t fond of being put on the spot like this. “Well, yes, I am fifty.”

   There was a long, awkward silence. Bella sat perfectly still as everyone but Bofur and his kin gawked and wondered if they stared because they hadn’t realized she was so young or because they hadn’t known that hobbits fell between Men and Dwarrow in terms of aging.

   “Does that mean hobbits age like Men?” Ori finally asked after a few splotches of ink had dripped onto his parchment. It didn’t quite break the uncomfortable atmosphere that had settled over the camp, but it did help a bit.

   “Oh, no,” Bella said, “we’re sort of between Dwarrow and Men, though much closer to Men. Most hobbits live to a hundred, maybe a hundred twenty years. My grandfather, Old Took, is the longest-lived hobbit in the history of the Shire. He made it to a hundred thirty.”

   They stayed up a bit later, discussing politics and general information about the Shire. Ori and Kili lit up when she mentioned hobbit songs, but Bella couldn’t be tempted to sing for them that night. Instead, she compromised with a telling of Frog and the Six Riddles, which had Bofur in stitches like it always did and left the majority of the company in a better mood (Thorin seemed determined to be a stick in the mud and, where Thorin went, Dwalin followed). It wasn’t an easy comradery, nor did Bella expect things to be easier tomorrow, but it was, she decided, a very good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations:  
> ‘afhu-ashhân - marriage bead; worn instead of wedding bands in Dwarven culture  
> lalkhûna - lady that is a fool/foolish  
> Lulkh ilkunul ma'gimi aya tada amsâl ikfên ra azrul nê jalamakini. - Idiot probably sat on that poor carving and didn't want to admit it.
> 
> Oh my gosh guys, I just want to say thanks so much for your patience as I get these chapters put together! Your reviews really keep me going and I'm always so happy to log in and see a new kudos or bookmark. Y'all rock! Also, Bifur's lines are a chore to write. *wipes sweat off brow* I would have posted this a whole day earlier if I hadn't had to go back and translate his dialogue.


	16. Chapter 16

**1 July, 1314 (Shire Reckoning)**

 

   The morning after Second Lithe Day, Kagin woke with a sense of purpose.

   He had thought about Belladonna’s words even after Bella had joined him again at the table and continued long into the night. Before he had even gone home to the Green Dragon, Kagin had come to a conclusion that was both exhilarating and terrifying. Kagin was in love with Bella Baggins. It had taken him a little longer to figure out what to do about it.

   Kagin’s first, paralyzing instinct had been to ignore it. Sitting at that table, watching Bella chat with her mother and the other hobbits that came by to say hello, Kagin had been sure that nothing good could ever come from him saying something to Bella. The good citizens of Hobbiton had been friendly enough to him in the past months, even giving him the opportunity to earn a living for himself, but he knew how things were. There would, no doubt, be a fuss if he were to say something to Bella about his feelings. He was an outsider. Dwarrow always had been, this knowledge was settled deep in his bones and he doubted any knock to the head could erase it. Bella was lovely, but surely even she would have . . . not objections, but she surely wouldn’t be eager to tie herself to a strange dwarf that didn’t even know where he’d come from. The thought had consumed him for nearly an hour before he realized how silly it was. He’d actually laughed out loud at his foolishness before a concerned look from Bella had caused him to fall silent again.

   Bella Baggins wasn’t one to allow others the satisfaction of having cowed her out of making her own decisions. If she rejected Kagin’s suit, it would be because she didn’t feel the same, or there was some irreconcilable point of disagreement between the two of them, not the bad opinion of her neighbors. Bolstered by this knowledge of Bella, Kagin had then set about mulling over the best way to broach the topic of a courtship with her.

   All night, he had thought and, when he finally drifted off to sleep, Kagin had managed to come up with a course of action that promised the least amount of offense. It was rather simple: Kagin would ask around, find out as much as he could about hobbit courting, and use this knowledge to broach the subject with Bella. If all went well, Bella would accept Kagin’s overtures and allow him to court her. Kagin rose from bed with this thought squarely at the forefront of his mind, dressed, and gathered some bread and cheese for breakfast on the way to the smithy with a single-minded determination. Reconnaissance was the first step of this mission. Information, then action.

   First on his list of people to see was Dipelta.

   Dipelta was behind the bar, washing out a set of tumblers. Kagin took his usual seat at the bar and ordered a finger of whiskey to steady his nerves. Dipelta poured his drink, turned back to her tumblers, and proceeded to sneak glances at him out of the corner of her eye for the next quarter of an hour.

   “What is it, Dipelta?” Kagin finally asked after the latest glance turned into a stare. Dipelta quickly looked pointedly away to her work.

   “Nothing.” She said dismissively. “Why?”

   Kagin narrowed his eyes. Deception and subtlety were not Dipelta’s strong points.

   “I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me, Miss Dipelta.” Dipelta did not a doubletake, but a quadruple-take and Kagin felt honored to have witnessed it for posterity. She quickly set her things to the side and awarded Kagin her undivided attention. Kagin smiled over his glass of whiskey.

   “What sorta questions?” She asked with all the wide-eyed curiosity of a faunt offered sweets before dinner.

   “How would a hobbit go about,” Kagin paused to consider his wording carefully, “showing their affection for another?” It didn’t seem possible, but Dipelta’s eyes grew even wider and her mouth fell open with a small popping noise. She gaped like a fish for a few moments before gathering herself.

   “Ooh, Master Kagin!” She finally squealed. Her cheeks flushed and she did a little jig behind the counter, making her curls bounce riotously on her shoulders. It only lasted a second and then she seemed to remember herself. Quickly, Dipelta stilled and tried her best to compose herself into a more neutral expression. “I mean, er, what affection we talkin’ ‘bout here? The kind you ‘ave for a sister or the kind you ‘ave for a,” her pink cheeks turned absolutely red, “lover?” Despite her efforts, Dipelta still looked far too interested in his answer. Kagin shifted in his seat. Perhaps asking her had been a mistake.

   “The latter,” he managed to croak after taking a sip of his whiskey. This was an awfully personal conversation. What had he been thinking? Kagin took a sharp glance around the Green Dragon’s dining room, but the area was mostly deserted. Most of Hobbiton was still sleeping off yesterday’s festivities.

   “Well,” Dipelta started slowly, “the first order of business is to have someone in mind.” She leaned on the bar and fixed Kagin with a significant look. “I assume our . . . hypothetical hobbit does already?” Kagin nodded. “All right, well then, he should start with flowers.”

   “Flowers?” Kagin repeated, skeptical. He knew hobbits held them dear, but flowers seemed a little insignificant. His first idea last night had been to gift Bella with something made of his own two hands, preferably something shiny, but he had struck that down with the thought that Bella didn’t seem to care much for shiny things. Flowers might be more on target, but there was still a part of Kagin that thought there had to be something more personal given.

   “Flowers.” Dipelta said firmly. “Rockfoil’s always good, rosebuds for new love, white clover, morning glories, er, aster, carnations if you’re feelin’ bold, heliotrope’s good, and, oh, and pansies.” She trailed off, then nodded sharpish as though satisfied by her advice. “Yessir, those’re a good place to start.” Well, that didn’t help at all. Kagin had no idea what any of those looked like, except the roses and clover.

   “What else?” He asked. “Surely there are other things you can do to indicate your interest?”

   Dipelta grinned like a cat with canary feathers in its teeth. Yes, Kagin was now sure that this had been a bad idea. Perhaps, if he left now, Dipelta would simply have mercy and forget this whole conversation. Though, watching her unrestrained glee, Kagin was sure he would never get so lucky.

   “Well, ‘f _course_ , there’s other things.” She braced both elbows against the countertop between them and leaned forward to speak more privately, though there were hardly any witnesses to their discussion. “Our hobbit could ask ‘is girl out for a walk, offer to escort her to an event, pay special attention to her during dances. There’s also little trinkets: rings, flower crowns, books, anything he knows she’d be fond of.” Another significant look and Kagin began thinking of the things he knew Bella liked. Books came to mind first and foremost. But she also fiercely loved her garden, so perhaps a set of gardening tools? Or a tree? Kagin could grow a tree. “You know,” Dipelta said, pulling Kagin out of his wandering thoughts, “just things that show he pays attention and would like to show her special attention. Sharing things with her that he doesn’t with others. The things he gives can be handmade, but that’s usually saved for after the courtship is official, unless it’s somethin’ small like a handkerchief or the like.”

   “And then what?” Kagin moved to the edge of his seat. He couldn’t help his interest. He’d never given hobbit courting habits a second thought before last night. “How is official courting initiated?”

   “Parents.” Dipelta pronounced like a judgement from the Valar. Kagin blinked owlishly at her, startled. “Before courtship can progress from casual to heading-toward-marriage, our gentlehobbit’s gotta speak with ‘is sweetheart’s parents and get permission. Most cases, it’s just a formality. Usually you don’t actually need the parents’ consent, unless one of them is below age of majority, but it’s polite. And makes things easier.” She added as though in an afterthought. “Then, courtship lasts until a proposal, usually a few months. And then the wedding’s usually the next spring after the engagement.” Dipelta shrugged. “That can take anywhere from a few months to almost a year, depending on when the couple comes to an understanding.”

   Given hobbits’ love of propriety and doing things just so, Kagin had been expecting more ceremony. He was sure there was more to it than Dipelta’s summary, but it was a good place to start.

   “Thank you, Miss Dipelta.” Kagin drained the last drops of whiskey from his glass, set it and his money for the drink on the table, and set off to open the forge for the day.

   On the other end of Hobbiton, Bella wasn’t having such a happy morning. No, today she woke wracked with doubt and spent much of the morning wallowing in it.

   Had she done something wrong, she wondered as she thought back on Kagin’s odd behavior last night. He had been distant and acted strangely when she returned to their table with punch. Bella agonized over his quietness. She must have done something to offend him. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so insistent that he dance with her last night. Bella was sure, as she looked back, that she must have seemed a child, tugging at their parent’s coattails as she dragged him onto the floor. At the time, she’d thought only of having fun with her friend, but now . . . Or maybe Kagin had decided that he no longer wished to be friends. Bella was crushed at the thought, but it would explain his distance last night and the strange looks that Belladonna had kept shooting him before she left them to their own devices.

   All morning, Bella fretted, until Belladonna distracted her with lunch. She was sure that any minute, Kagin would knock on the door and come to tell her that he was no longer interested in her or their friendship. It was ridiculous, Bella knew, but she was sure it was the only explanation for Kagin’s sudden disinterest. She had been too silly last night. She acted too much like a child. Surely Kagin wasn’t interested in some giggly, rosy-cheeked girl. She’d been too forward. Bella should have just let him sit out and shouldn’t have pushed him so much to dance. Oh, this wouldn’t do at all. After all this time Bella had been managing to behave herself, the first new friend she made in years came along and she ruined it all in one night.

   It was these thoughts that carried Bella through that day and the next three days when Kagin neither called on Bag End nor invited her or Belladonna to the Green Dragon for a visit.

   Kagin spent the next few days carefully asking around for the preferred methods of hobbit courting. He was very careful not to repeat his discussion with Dipelta to anyone else. While Dipelta, good lass, was willing to keep things hypothetical, he doubted anyone else in Hobbiton would and word would get back to Bella before he’d figured out how to start things.

   Despite his fears, it was ridiculously easy to get most residents of Hobbiton talking about courting. All he had to do was ask an aging widow about her fondly recalled husband or a young couple how they’d met and off they were, giving him all the details he was too cautious to approach Dipelta for. Mrs. Greenhand was fond of relaying the story of her late husband’s first fumbling attempts to woo her with flowers she was increasingly allergic to. Young Dillon Proudfoot was good for information about what sorts of gifts would be appropriate to give while still in the early days of a romance—Kagin made a note to procure a blank handkerchief and basic embroidery lessons at some point. The more he asked around, the more Kagin was sure this was what he wanted and he was starting to have an idea of how to go about broaching the subject with Bella.

   Three days after Second Lithe Day, Kagin left the forge early. He went to the Green Dragon, washed the day’s work off his skin and out of his hair, and carefully chose a nice vest and pair of trousers out of his slowly growing wardrobe. His hair was growing back where it had been shaved during his attack. It would be some time before it would be long enough to braid, but, if nothing else, Kagin had learned patience from his current circumstances. Another year and he could proudly wear his smith braids where they were meant to be and, hopefully, he would have an entirely different set to add to them.

   It was with these cheerful thoughts buoying him that Kagin left the Green Dragon with the express intent to head for Bag End.

***

   Bella’s stomach dropped like a stone when the bell went off just before teatime. Belladonna was already in the parlor, setting their tea out on a low table, and motioned for her fear-struck daughter to answer the door before whoever it was went away. Bella inched toward Bag End’s round front door with apprehension slowing her steps.

   It had been three days with no word from Kagin. This had to be it. Kagin was on the other side and he was going to tell her that in no uncertain terms was he uninterested in being friends with such an immature faunt of a girl. Bella’s eyes welled with tears just thinking about it. Still, she was a Baggins of Bag End and it was never said that a Baggins shirked their duties to a guest. Bella took a breath, braced herself for impending doom and heartbreak, and wrenched the door open far rougher than she ought to.

   Kagin blinked owlishly at her in the afternoon sunlight, holding a small basket and one hand tucked behind his back. After a moment to gather himself, he offered Bella a small, warm smile.

   “’Afternoon, Miss Baggins,” he said and Bella was glad that he at least seemed to still be willing to be friendly and polite. “I was in the area and wondered if you and your mother might not mind a friend joining you for tea?” He trailed off as Bella clapped her hands to her mouth and let out a wholly undignified noise. “Miss Baggins? Are you all right?” Bella nodded fiercely.

  “I’m sorry, Master Kagin,” she pried her hands away from her face long enough to blurt out. “I was under the impression I rather upset you and I’m very happy to find I didn’t.” Kagin tilted his head like a puppy with water in its ear.

   “Why would you think that?” He seemed rather distressed by the idea that Bella had entertained such a thought. “I’m sorry if I upset you in any way, Miss Baggins. I didn’t mean to. I simply—I had a rather novel idea brought to my attention these past few days and I’m afraid it took me longer than I’d hoped to decide what to do about it.” Bella could have floated right off the ground.

   He wasn’t upset with her! Oh, thank the Valar. Bella hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of Kagin disapproving of her.

   “No, I’m sorry, Master Kagin,” she finally said when she was sure her voice wouldn’t come out in a squeak. “I thought you must be cross with me after—well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now, but I was rather insistent you dance with us on Lithe Day.” Bella found the fabric of her skirts and rubbed it nervously between her fingers. Her gaze dropped to Kagin’s heavy boots and Bella felt her cheeks flush at the admission. “I’m afraid I was being a tad childish and let my enthusiasm get away from me.” Kagin laughed and Bella quickly glared up at him with all the indignation she could muster. “That’s rather mean of you to laugh, sir. First you go all distant, then I don’t hear from you for days. I was very worried I’d offended you.”

   Kagin sobered instantly.

   “I do apologize, Miss Baggins.” He said. “I didn’t mean to laugh at your distress, only at the irony of our situation.” Bella continued to frown. “While you were here worrying about having done something to offend me, I was worrying about something I’m doing that might offend you.”

   “And what’s that?” Bella asked, her frustration melting away to curiosity. Kagin smiled a mischievous smile and produced from behind his back a small bouquet of flowers. They were small, white clustered blossoms that Bella would have appreciated if she hadn’t known what they meant. Yarrow, war, and Bella’s breath caught in her throat until she realized that there was most likely no way that Kagin knew what the flowers in his hands meant.

   Bella tried her best to hide her disappointment, but it must have shown. Kagin’s smile faltered. He retracted his hand and the flowers with it and looked uncertainly down at his offering.

   “I, er, perhaps I was mistaken . . .” He moved to tuck the flowers out of sight again, but Bella caught his wrist before he could.

   “No!” She yelped. Kagin looked up at her, startled. “I love them.” Relief flooded Kagin’s expression. His smile returned readily and he held out the flowers again.

   “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that I got it right.” He said as Bella relieved him of his bouquet. “Dipelta told me of them, but she didn’t give me any description at all. I asked Master Bolger when he came to pick up his commission yesterday and all he said was that rockfoil was small and white . . .” Kagin trailed off, then looked sternly from the flowers up to Bella. “There are a great many small, white flowers in this area, Miss Baggins.”

   Bella couldn’t help the smile that tugged her lips and made her cheeks hurt. Oh, rockfoil! Her ears warmed, her heart fluttered and she wondered when she’d stepped into the beginning of one of Aunt Camilla’s insipid romance novels. But, goodness, it was sweet of Kagin to try. He was right. There were many varieties of flowers in Hobbiton’s immediate area that could be described vaguely as small and white. Both yarrow and rockfoil were only two such options.

   “Yes, and yarrow is one of them.” Bella teased with a raised brow. Kagin’s jaw dropped then clicked audibly shut. His eyes dropped to his shoes and the tips of his ears poking through his hair turned pink.

   “Miss Baggins, I am sor—” Bella’s delighted giggle cut him off. Kagin’s ears bypassed pink and went straight to red.

   “Master Kagin, with such a vague description and no experience in the area—They’re beautiful.” She brought the flowers up to smell. “And,” Bella looked up to find him staring at her, “I do appreciate the gesture.”

   Before either of them could say anything further, they were interrupted.

   “What’s going on out there?” Belladonna called from inside the smial. Bella jumped out of her skin, nearly dropping her newly acquired flowers. “Bella, love, who is it?”

   “Master Kagin, Momma,” Bella called back. “He stopped by to see if we wouldn’t mind him joining us for tea.”

   “Well, then, don’t keep him waiting on the doorstep. Bring him in.”

   Bella turned to Kagin, grinning so hard her cheeks hurt and practically vibrating from head to toe. She couldn’t believe how happy she felt, especially now that the small misunderstanding about the flowers had been cleared up. Kagin smiled back down at her, eyes twinkling in the summer sun. Oh, dear, Bella thought to herself, how easily a young lass could have her head turned by such a handsome man. How easily indeed.

   Tea was had without much fanfare. Kagin joined Bella and Belladonna in the parlor and accepted three sugars and lots of cream in his tea and they chatted about the festival and what Bella’s plans for next year’s tomatoes were. She was already sketching plots for the garden and was going to be working on a new mix of compost that might help produce even larger, redder tomatoes than she’d managed to grow this year. Kagin wished her luck with a cheerful chuckle and Bella knew instantly that he was going to be stuck helping her when he had the time. She also had the feeling that Kagin wouldn’t mind being roped into assisting in their garden half so much as he might let on.

   Before he left that afternoon, Kagin caught Bella’s wrist and tugged her out onto the front step. The door stayed open behind them. Belladonna was no doubt eavesdropping in the hall, but being out here with Kagin made Bella blush so hard that her face felt like it was on fire. He’d meant to bring her rockfoil today and Bella was vividly aware of what that would mean if he were a hobbit lad instead of a dwarf smith.

   “Miss Baggins,” Kagin’s voice was gentle and Bella took a deep breath to calm the pounding of her heart. “I’m afraid we were interrupted earlier before I could—that is, before I could say what it was that I came to say.”

   “Oh?” Bella’s mouth was dry. Kagin went pink in the face. Suddenly he was very interested in his boots.

   “Er, yes, well, I had hoped—that is, Miss Baggins . . . Do you recall the novel idea we were discussing earlier?” How could Bella forget? Kagin hadn’t said what it was exactly, but it had supposedly prompted him to present her with the flowers now sitting in a vase on her bedside table.

   “Yes, I do.” She finally said. Kagin glanced back up at her again, opened his mouth and closed it again, then spoke.

   “I realized that night that I would—I greatly enjoy your company, Miss Baggins. You have been a dear friend to me in the past months. I have grown to very much look forward to my visits with you and your mother. However, it had occurred to me that, however much I enjoy the company of both of you, I would enjoy calling especially on you much more in the future. It would be a great honor if you would permit me to do so.” Kagin said. “I promise I'll find the correct flowers next time.” He added quickly with a slightly worried expression.

   Bella stood, stunned motionless, for a good long minute. He wanted to what? Then Kagin’s words caught up with her.

   “Oh!” She let out something between a shriek and a laugh and launched herself at Kagin. He caught her with a low grunt and returned her enthusiastic hug with equal strength. “Yes, yes.” Bella thought she heard sniggering from inside the smial. She pulled quickly away from Kagin and smoothed her skirts, cheeks and ears flaming red. “I would like that very much, Master Kagin.” Kagin’s smile was bright and warm.

   “Then I must ask you to call me simply Kagin from now on, Miss Baggins.” He said shyly. Bella was beaming so hard, her cheeks hurt.

   “I will, Kagin.” To say it sent flutters through her. “But I have to insist on you calling me Bella.” Kagin’s answer was to take Bella’s hand and press a gentle kiss to it.

   “Until next time, then, Bella.”

   The next few weeks, Bella found herself falling into a pattern. Kagin would come over Sunday mornings and together they would walk down to Bywater, out along the bank to search for mushrooms and other plants, and then back again up to Bag End with their finds. They would then spend the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon either out in the garden, Kagin smoking or carving at blocks of wood while Bella dug in the earth, or holed away in the library with Belladonna, reading through the books that Bungo and Belladonna had collected together and separately over the years.

   In the late afternoon, Kagin would be ushered into the kitchen where he was learning to cook from the Baggins women. So far, he had mastered a few hearty stews, chicken pot pie, and Bella’s favorite mashed potatoes with turkey. Belladonna often teased that one day, Kagin would be the one making dinner while she and Bella sat by the fire in the other room. Kagin was more than happy to oblige, though he admitted he would need much more tutelage before he was able to produce the feasts that Belladonna and Bella put together.

   Some evenings, Kagin came by to visit after he’d finished work at the forge. Others, Bella was sent out with a basket by Belladonna, packed with bread and jam or biscuits and honey or even books that either Belladonna or Bella had promised to bring by. Those days, Bella found herself sitting off to the side in the forge and reading aloud or simply watching as Kagin worked on this piece of metal or that. She watched with fascination as he shaped spoons and knives and beads and intricate jewelry from lumps and sheets of metal. It was breathtaking, though Kagin often said that he had yet to make anything that any proper dwarf would be willing to brag about. Bella wasn’t so sure about that; she’d seen the necklace Kagin had made for Mr. Hopkins to give to his wife as an anniversary present. If that wasn’t something to brag about, Bella wasn’t sure she’d be able to have words to describe what was.

   Kagin himself was rather pleased with the way things were going as summer stretched ever on and the world became hotter and, at times, even seemed to wilt a little as July became August. One day Bella shyly presented him with a kerchief, embroidered 'round the edges and with his initial in one corner, and Kagin returned the gift with a handkerchief of his own that he'd been working on. The stitches were uneven and he'd had to unpick them several times (much to Mrs. Greenhand's amusement as she taught him) but two B's could clearly be made out in one corner and the way Bella's eyes sparkled and her lips quirked in a grin when he gave it to her made the sub-par quality of the thing worth it.

   Oh, yes, as weeks passed, Kagin became more and more sure that, whatever else there had been, the Shire was now his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, I am so sorry about the long wait you guys. I got so stuck on that last section, where Kagin's asking Bella for more time together. *slides down the wall with a Tina Belcher groan* Romance scenes are not my strong point. Anyway, here it is. I hope you guys like it. As hard as it was writing the scene, I actually am kinda happy how it ended up. I'm planning to get the next chapter up a whole lot sooner, I promise.


	17. Chapter 17

**30 May, 1341 (Shire Reckoning)**

 

   In Bella’s defense, she hadn’t been the one to suggest investigating the strange light in the woods. Oh, no, that had been all Fili and Kili. Bella had only been bringing them dinner as they watched the ponies and they’d dragged her along when they’d spotted a flickering light off in the trees. Bella had fought every step of the way, hissing in the stifling night silence that they should fetch Dwalin or even Thorin (which really should have tipped them off about how uneasy she was). Honestly, those two boys were as selectively deaf as Oin.

   The three of them should have turned right around when the they discovered the trolls, but of course they hadn’t because that would have been the sensible thing to do. Instead, Bella found herself creeping around the trolls’ camp while Fili and Kili left her on her own to finally return to camp and get help. Hoot like a barn owl indeed. Which was how the company had ended up either trapped in burlap sacks or tied to a spit over the fire. It was also how Bella had wound up the focus of Thorin’s ire. Again.

   The entire company hadn’t yet managed to free themselves when Thorin, rumpled from his sojourn in his burlap sack, rounded on Bella.

   “Don’t you dare!” She said firmly before he could start. It was the wrong thing to say.

   “Dare what?” Thorin was the physical manifestation of a storm cloud as he stalked toward her. “Dare discipline a member of my company for doing something to put not only themselves in danger, but the entire company along with them?” He loomed over Bella and that, accompanied with his condescending tone, made her feel quite small. Bella Baggins didn’t like feeling small.

   “Firstly, it was _your boys_ that went rabbiting off into the woods after strange lights when they should have been watching the ponies. If anyone’s responsible for stumbling onto the trolls it’s them.” Bella gestured blindly in the direction of the last place she’d seen Fili and Kili and felt only marginally guilty for moving the blame for this mess onto them. “Though, I’ll admit that sticking my hand in that troll’s coin purse was rather foolhardy, but how was I supposed to know it talked? And secondly, in case you’ve entirely forgotten, sneaking into a dragon’s lair and poking it with a stick isn’t exactly keeping out of danger, Master Dwarf. Unlike you, I’ve no experience in such things and I hardly think that it’ll do me any good to play a chicken when difficulties arise. How else am I supposed to learn to keep a calm head and protect myself during a fight?” The two of them were standing quite close now. Bella had to fight the urge to poke Thorin in the chest to emphasize her words, which she’d often done to tease Kagin and get him laughing during their more serious disagreements. Neither of them had been keen on arguments. This was just another glaring difference between Thorin and her husband.

   “You will learn nothing if you continue to act like a child, still wet behind the ears, charging into danger at every opportunity and jeopardizing anyone that has to go after you to save your skin. Your actions were careless and nearly cost you your life and the lives of our entire company.” Thorin’s voice had risen to a shout. Bella was mortified to feel tears pricking her eyes. Her throat closed up and it was a moment before she could speak again.

   “I,” she finally said, voice wavering, “am not a child. I am a grown woman with a good head on my shoulders. I would _never_ put myself in a dangerous situation for fun or some lack of sense. Nor would I leave my comrades to deal with three grown trolls on their own, regardless of what that might mean for myself.” Gathering the tattered shreds of her dignity, Bella squared her shoulders and pulled herself up to her full height, which was rather unimpressive compared to Thorin’s looming stature. “And I would never begrudge anyone similar actions if it kept someone dear to me safe.”

   With that last word, Bella turned and stalked off into the brush to have a nice long cry.

***

   There were many times in his life that Thorin had felt like a complete and total ass. For all his ability to pull together his kin in times of trouble and in the heat of battle, Thorin often made a mess of things in everyday conversation. Dis had always been willing to point out these cockups, even if Thorin was already glaringly aware of them, and often with a smack to the back of his head and a sharp look when they were in private. Balin also had been a pillar of calm and sense in the face of Thorin’s verbal missteps over the years, letting Thorin know of both disappointment and amusement in his own quiet way. Dwalin had no such subtlety and was even less gentle with his smacks than Dis was.

   Dwalin caught Thorin hard enough that he stumbled as they lagged behind the group that set out to find the trolls’ cave. Thorin grimaced and reached back to gingerly touch where Dwalin had walloped him.

   “It’s dishonorable to say such things to a lady, Thorin.” Dwalin said shortly. “I’d defy anyone to keep Fili and Kili from dragging them off into their schemes after only knowing them a few short weeks.” Thorin scowled.

   “She should have known better than to let them go off into the woods on their own.” Thorin snapped. “She should have come back to camp and let someone know about the light before investigating herself.” Dwalin snorted.

   “And leave the boys galumphing off toward danger on their own?” He fixed Thorin with a firm, disapproving look. “They would have gone to look with or without her. You know that. I think Mistress Baggins knows that too.” Thorin knew the wisdom of those words—knew in a way that could only be gained by years of running after Fili and Kili as they raced on ahead—but he was loathe to admit it out loud.

   They were interrupted by the discovery of the trolls’ cave and Thorin attempted to put it out of his mind, but it wouldn’t go. When they rejoined the rest of the company back at their abandoned camp, Bella was talking quietly to Bofur by the fire and was wiping discreetly at red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks. Yes, there were many times in his life that Thorin had felt like a complete and total ass and this was one of them.

   They did not travel that day. Instead, they took stock of what food and supplies they’d raided from the trolls and set to mulling about camp. Weapons needed cleaning and sharpening, food could always be cooked, and there was always much talking to be done between the lot of them when other tasks ran dry. Before he settled down to inspect his new sword, Thorin caught Fili’s eye and motioned for him and Kili to come over. The two of them looked like men on the way to the chopping block as they joined Thorin on the edge of camp, just out of sight and earshot to avoid the curiosity of the company.

   “You shouldn’t blame Mistress Baggins, Uncle.” Fili spoke after a moment’s hesitation. “She wanted to return to camp and fetch someone about the light, but we—we insisted she come along.”

   “Our burglar is a grown woman and capable of making her own decisions.” Thorin said firmly as he crossed his arms over his chest. Fili’s gaze dropped to the ground and he fell silent. Thorin let them stew in their guilt for a moment before speaking again. “I expected better from both of you.” Kili wilted like a cut flower in the sun. “Neither of you are new recruits, leaving the mountain for the first time. You know as well as any of us what dangers lay in the wilds. Tramping off into the forest after strange lights?” He half-yelled, incredulity coloring his voice. Beyond the blind panic that had hit him like a wild horse when the boys had come running into camp, yelling about Mistress Baggins and trolls, there had been the disappointed amazement that Fili and Kili had done something so foolish and left their inexperienced burglar to handle the situation on her own. “If not for Mistress Baggins’s quick thinking and Gandalf coming back, the lot of us would be dead. Did you not promise your mother to stay safe?” It was a low blow, but this sort of mistake could not be made again and the two of them were old enough to know better by now. Kili’s shoulders hunched further. Fili clenched his jaw hard and met Thorin’s gaze with steely eyes. “Would you make me a liar, after telling her I’d bring both of you home?”

   “Mother’s stronger than you think, Uncle.” Fili said so quietly that Thorin almost didn’t hear. Kili looked up at his brother with shock and not a little trepidation. “She kept our people together when—she knows such promises can’t be kept, better than most.” Kili’s eyebrows shot up, his face pale. Thorin gave a harsh sigh. It wasn’t often they brought up his . . . absence.

   “I would rather she didn’t have to experience it again, if we can help it.” He turned to stalk back toward camp. “Be more careful in the future.”     

   Thorin spent the rest of the day in a high dudgeon and the conversation that sprang up after he returned to camp didn’t help in the slightest. Someone had gotten Gloin started on the subject of his wife and son, which was never a good idea unless you wanted background noise while falling asleep, and now he was chatting animatedly with Bella about the families they’d left behind.

   “My lad, Gimli,” Gloin was saying, over the groans of half the company it should be noted, “just advanced in his training and is looking for another advancement before the year is out, we hope.” He had flipped open the locket he kept and was showing Bella the sketches of Gimli and Járndís inside.

   “Oh, what a handsome boy.” Bella cooed appropriately. “You must be very proud of him.”

   “Aye, my dear wife and I are awfully proud.” Gloin said, chest puffing out. “And what of your children? You and your husband must be overjoyed to have so many little ones running about.” Bella’s smile faltered. Thorin didn’t miss Bifur’s head snapping toward her and Gloin, eyes narrowed.

   “I am terribly happy to have them.” Bella said after a moment of awkward silence that Gloin didn’t seem to notice. “My, er, my husband . . . I'm afraid he's no longer with us. Gone just before our youngest was born.” Gloin’s previously cheerful expression dropped.

   “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” he stuttered in an uncharacteristic display of tact. “I didn’t mean—”

   “It’s quite all right.” Bella said with a sad smile. “I’ve got my kin.”

   “What was he like?” Ori asked innocently and Thorin fought the urge to growl at him to mind his own business. It was tactless to ask after a lost spouse. Thankfully, Dori was thinking along the same lines as Thorin and shushed Ori.

   Thorin took his new sword and turned his back on the conversation. It struck too close to the memories of his first days after—after returning to his home and family only to find himself a ghost walking among the living . . .

   His last memory had been of heading south toward the land southeast of Mithlond, in the hills between the southwest borders of the Shire and the roots of the southern, annexed section of the Blue Mountains. He’d been hoping to find work in the scattered settlements of Men there and had left with that destination in mind. The first weeks of travel had gone smoothly until Thorin’s memories cut off. He’d next woken to find himself taken in by a caravan of Dwarrow, only a two-day journey from home. They’d said they found him on the side of the road farther south, knocked out by what they’d reckoned was a kick to the head from a horse—a horse that was nowhere to be found. His supplies lost and so close to home, Thorin had agreed to accompany them back to Ered Luin if only to resupply and get fully checked by a healer before leaving again. There was something disconcerting about waking up somewhere strange with no idea how he’d gotten there and Thorin hadn’t wanted to take any chances with a head injury.

   It was only when they reached Thorin’s Halls proper that Thorin had realized that something was gravely wrong. The merchants that had brought him in hadn’t known him—and really, who would expect traveling textile merchants to recognize their king—but as they had entered the Halls, Thorin had become glaringly aware of eyes on him and whispers flying about. When one guard had taken a look at him, turned white, and run, Thorin had known that something was truly the matter.

   Dis had met him in the street leading up to the council’s chambers. A loud, hoarse noise that sounded almost like an animal dying had been all his warning before Dis had tackled into him. What had followed next had been a mess of confusion, yelling, and tears, nearly all of it in full view of the spectators that had started gawking at the sight of their once-dead king now returned.

   There had been no answers. Supplies and any possible hints of his whereabouts gone, there was no telling where he’d been for over a decade.

   “They brought your rings, your braids,” Dis had said that night as their family sat around the fire. A group of Dwarrow had been looking to upset the Longbeards’ hold on their mines by assassinating Thorin on the road. After years with no contact, and only the braids that his attackers had used to mock Dis’s efforts to find him, there had been no choice but to conclude that their attack had been successful. “We looked, from here to Mithlond. We sent word out to Bree, to anyone that we thought could help.” She’d shaken her head and looked at Thorin with desperation. “If I’d known—”

   But she hadn’t. No one had. And the missing twelve years . . . the fact that he’d been gone so long from his role as provider and ruler had only been compounded by his beads.

   A marriage bead, polished and carefully kept, one for a master smith, and one for fatherhood. Thorin had had a family while he was gone. The knowledge had made his transition back to life in Ered Luin even worse. How could he return to his life here when he had a family waiting for him out there? But months had passed, then years. Thorin had discreetly sent feelers out to try and find where he’d been in those missing years. Nothing. No sign of where he’d gone after leaving Ered Luin. There was no telling where he had ended up for work. There was no knowing where his family was, if they even lived or wished to see him again. Six years ago, after an incident that still made Thorin’s blood boil when he thought of it, he had given up, resigned himself to never knowing. His beads hung on a chain around his neck. They brought him comfort some days and nothing but doubt and melancholy others. No one would know they were there and Thorin had long since decided to keep it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the process of editing this chapter. So it's going to be changing a little. Not a whole lot, just some details.


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